Between the Lines
by JenF
Summary: An innocent night out turns sinister when Sam disappears, leading the Winchesters into a world of delusion and obsession. Determined to get him back, Dean discovers there's more to the power of the written word than he could have ever imagined.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Between the Lines  
**Author**: JenF**  
** **Chapter:** 1 of 4  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Winchester family, their property, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.  
**A/N:** This story originally appeared as part of the Supernatural Virtual Season. Although most of the characters are original, there is an appearance by a VS character who isn't mine. If you know the VS, you'll know who I mean when we get there.

* * *

It's three in the morning and Dean doesn't know where Sam is. Hell, he's not entirely sure where _he_ is but that can wait. He's more concerned about his little brother. The thought "little brother" brings a smirk to his face that he can't quite understand, given the circumstances. Which are that Sam is missing, he's in a damp, dark alley and his head throbs like a brass band is trying to make its way out of his ear canal.

Reaching out a hand to push himself upright he grimaces as he makes contact with something soft and, well, squishy. Yanking his hand out of the offending substance he reflexively shakes his fingers away from his body with an automatic "crap." The sound of gloop hitting the ground by his boot is enough to make him shudder in disgust.

His stomach roils in protest but he tells himself to suck it up. Until he knows where Sam is, he's not going to hang around alleyways with God knows what coating the ground. As he hauls himself upright, using the wall behind for support, he hopes he doesn't catch anything from the filth.

Sam must be somewhere near, he decides. After all, they were together in the bar. Which is pretty much the last thing he can remember, and he thinks that should worry him more than the ground coverage. It means one of two things. Either he was so whacked out of his gourd he can't remember anything other than the bar. Or someone slipped him something.

On balance, now he's upright and the world has stopped spinning, he thinks the latter more likely. Taking stock of his personal wellbeing, he deduces there are no bruises other than those gained from falling to the ground, no lumps or bumps on his head and, thankfully, no blood seeping from hidden wounds. Which means however he got here, he didn't put up a fight.

Hence the deduction someone slipped him something. Because Dean Winchester waking up in an alley without putting up a fight? Doesn't happen. Ever.

He kicks himself for making such a rookie mistake. What was it Dad always, always, used to tell him? "Never let your drink out of your sight." So, so simple and yet he got it wrong tonight. And paid the consequences.

He takes a deep breath, regretting it instantly as the stench from the dumpster beside him hits his protesting stomach and it's all he can do to keep the contents inside him as he gags. He flings an arm in front of his mouth and nose to keep the odor from invading his body any further than it already has.

Fumbling his way along the side of the passageway till he reaches the street, he keeps his eyes peeled for Sam. He doesn't see him, but he wasn't really expecting to. Sam, he reflects, is far too sensible to have his drink spiked. Hell, the kid's probably out there somewhere, frantically searching for him. At least that's the scenario Dean keeps in his head. Because it's the only one he can contemplate.

The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

Stopping under a street lamp, Dean's relieved to spot his baby, patiently waiting for him where he left her. But that leaves another problem. If he's where they started the night, Sam should have found him by now. Which means Sam isn't around here.

So, where the hell is he?

Sam opens his eyes cautiously. He can't see much but that, he reasons, is because it's still dark and the room he's in doesn't seem to have many windows. He turns his head slowly to the left, spots nothing, and turns it to the right. Nothing there either.

No Dean.

He takes a minute or two to assess the situation, just like Dad taught him, just like Dean taught him. He's lying on a bed of what feels like straw but he doesn't spend much time on farms so he could be wrong. He knows it's not much of a mattress but it's better than nothing he supposes. The room smells of animals, of damp, of machinery oil and paraffin.

And it's quiet. Very quiet.

He thinks he can risk sitting up and stretches out one arm to the side. He gets about a foot from the side of the makeshift bed before his hand hits the wall. At least he thinks it's a wall. It's solid and damp and cold.

He tries the other hand, stretching it out to his full arm span without coming into contact with anything. This is more promising, he thinks, and pulls himself up until he's sitting on the mattress.

He fumbles inside his jacket, looking for the mini flashlight he always carries there. He's not that surprised to find it's gone. So has his lighter. And his matches. And gun. And the assortment of knives he carries around these days.

Whoever brought him here – because he couldn't see a damn thing – did a good job. They were quick, efficient and knew his weak spot. One threat to Dean's safety and he was putty in their hands. Dean will be pissed when he finds out how they got to Sam but Sam doesn't really care about that.

He lifts his arms up, checking where the ceiling of the room is and, when he doesn't find anything, stands cautiously. He's pleased to find he can stand upright but when he reaches up again, he still can't touch the ceiling. He wonders about that, along with the other things he's learned about his environment. All things considered, he thinks he might actually be in a barn.

He feels his way around, finds the walls easily enough, trips over a few unidentifiable objects and eventually finds what must be the door. He pushes at it, slides his fingers over the hinges, tries the handle. Nothing works. The doors aren't opening any time soon. At least, not from the inside.

Sighing in frustration, Sam automatically reaches for his cell. Mentally rebuking himself for his stupidity when it's not there, he drops back down to the straw mattress. There's nothing he can do right now. Not when he can hardly see his hand in front of his face.

He'll have to wait and hope Dean finds him quickly.

The dawn breaks agonizingly slowly. Dean hasn't appeared yet but Sam's not unduly worried. He knows what they did to his brother. It was the only way they could get him to go with them after all. One spiked drink, one whispered threat in his ear and one very, very stoned and susceptible brother and Sam knew they weren't going to hurt Dean if he did what they said. He's far too valuable to them alive.

Which is why Dean sauntered off with that stunning redhead, a goofy and slightly incredulous grin on his face and Sam ended up in this barn.

Now it's light, he can see what was indistinguishable in the early hours. He was right in that he is in a barn but there's little here to help him get out so all he can do is wait.

Turns out he doesn't have to wait long. The creaking of rusty hinges and the sound of footsteps on the hard ground have him alert even before he sees his captors.

There are three of them, none of whom were at the bar last night. Sam takes in this information curiously. It means this must be a pretty big operation – at least six, probably more. He studies the trio carefully, takes his time since nobody seems to be in a rush to break the silence.

Two men, one girl. She looks young, too young to be consorting with the others who must be in their late forties, maybe older. But as they hover behind her, Sam concludes she's the one in charge, the one with the power. The older men look unhappy at the relegation and Sam wonders what she's got on them.

She cocks her head to one side as she studies him. He meets her eye and refuses to back down. Then she nods, flicks long, black hair back over her shoulder and nods again slowly.

"Sam Winchester," she declares, as though she's won a great prize. "I've been looking for you for such a long time."

Sam doesn't like the way she puts the emphasis on "such a long time." He rifles through his mental catalogue of known threats but can't identify her, or her cohorts. But it doesn't really matter as she crouches down in front of him.

"Oh yes," she murmurs as she reaches out a hand to him. He can't help but jerk back but she frowns at him. "Don't do that," she tells him, almost plaintively and suddenly he finds he can't move. Her hand rests on the side of his head, fingers playing in his hair and he wants nothing more than for her to stop.

And then she does. She sits back on her haunches, looking unnaturally comfortable and looks at the hair she's pulled from Sam's scalp.

"What's the incantation, Sam?" she asks and the question throws Sam completely. He just looks blankly at her, diverting his attention from her only long enough to glance at the men he's decided must be her bodyguards.

"What?" Confusion is palpable in his voice but she either doesn't notice, or chooses to ignore it.

"The incantation, Sam," she repeats patiently. "The one for the books. The one that only the master can speak."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam tells her. And he really doesn't.

But she just smiles and leans forward to stroke his hair again, like a pet dog. "Yes you do, Sam," she reassures him. "You just don't know it yet."

She stands up abruptly and Sam feels an inexplicable sense of loss, as if she's taking a part of him with her. She turns to her companions and passes the strand of hair to the larger of the two. "You know what to do with it," she orders and Sam's blood turns just a little colder. "Don't worry," she tells him, not bothering to turn back to him. "You won't feel a thing," and she dismisses her consorts with a flick of a perfectly manicured hand.

"You must think us terribly rude," she suddenly says, looking absently around the barn. "There was nowhere else though. I'm sorry. But it won't be for long." She drops back down to Sam. "You'll see. Very soon, you'll know and we can put all this unpleasantness behind us."

Sam shakes his head, watching her warily. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he tells her again.

"You're very sweet, you know. Has anyone ever told you that?"

The question seems incongruous and Sam doesn't have an answer for that one. He shakes his head and decides it's time to ask a few questions of his own.

"Where's my brother?" he demands.

The girl looks disappointed for a second. "Dean?" she asks. "He's fine. Probably has a bit of a headache but my girl took very good care of him for you. You'll see him soon, Sam. As soon as this is over."

"But where is he?" Sam persists.

She sighs and leans forward. "I don't know. In the bar still? Back at your motel? In his car cruising around? Don't worry about him."

"That's not good enough," he hisses, fed up of the non-answers he's getting. But she seems impervious to his tone of voice.

"We'll keep an eye on him for you," she informs him, but despite the softness of her voice, she manages to make it sound more of a threat than a reassurance.

Accepting he's not going to get any more information about his brother out of the girl, Sam hangs on to the fact Dean's okay, somewhere, and returns to the girl's initial question.

"Who's the master?" he asks, not sure if he wants the answer but he's always believed knowledge is power and he doesn't have much of that in this equation yet.

The girl looks mildly surprised and reaches out a hand. She rests it over Sam's heart and closes her eyes. Her face is a picture of concentration and Sam can feel the heat of her fingers seeping through his shirt. He vaguely thinks she's a little too warm but then she curls her fingers and her nails dig into his flesh, very gently but firmly.

"You are, Sam," she tells him and opens her eyes. She looks directly at him and he registers the color of her irises with little comfort. Soft blue has turned to brilliant blue, the color natural eyes should not be. She seems unaware of his concern as she continues, "I thought it was you but now," and she glances down at where her hand is gripping his chest, "now I know."

It seems pointless scouring the neighborhood for more than three hours but Dean doesn't know what else to do. He's tried his cell phone but Sam's not picking up and he can't hear it ringing anywhere. At first he thought it might have been dropped in the vicinity but he's finally accepted that's not the case.

The sun is beginning to show its face over the horizon and as the pale light wakes the world around him, Dean is grateful the stores are beginning to open. He wonders how the hell they managed to end up in the only town without a twenty-four hour dime store. But it doesn't matter now, he tells himself, as workers start to make their way around the streets.

He asks everyone and anyone if they've seen his brother. He drags out a single, creased photo of Sam. It's not in the best condition but it's been in his pocket for a long time now. Sam doesn't know he's got it and there's no way he'll ever admit to having it. He's folded and unfolded it many times, times when Sam was away, times when they'd argued and sometimes just when he's lonely.

But no one has seen him. The girl at the bus stop on Tyler Street thinks he looks familiar but that's only because her cousin has long hair like Sam's. It doesn't help that she looks at the image a little too keenly. Dean thanks her for her time and heads off down another street.

The man behind the newsstand eyes the hunter curiously when he shows him the photo. He takes the worn piece of paper and examines it closely before turning his gaze on Dean. Then he hands it back silently, shaking his head sadly.

"He'll be alright," he tells Dean. "He's with them."

Dean's not sure whether to kiss the man or throttle him. "Them?" he asks, not liking the sound of this.

The newsvendor glances up and down the street, checking out the locals. "You new in town?" he queries, pointlessly.

"Yes."

"Hmm. Thought so," the old man replies and drops back into a thoughtful silence.

Unable to take the suspense any longer, Dean raps on the pile of papers before the man. "Who's 'them'?" he insists.

But the old man just looks at him and chews his lower lip pensively. Then he glances up and down the street again and Dean can't help looking to see what the guy's looking for. When he turns back to the newsstand, the old man's posture has changed and he's holding out a copy of the local rag.

"Buy a paper," he suggests to Dean.

Dean shakes his head. "I don't want a paper," he replies. "I just want to know where my brother is."

"Buy a paper," the old man replies, refusing to meet the hunter's eye. "You never know what you might learn from the paper, son," and he virtually thrusts the journal at Dean.

Dean narrows his eyes and accepts the proffered paper, digging in his pocket for some change. He nods his thanks at the man, trying to mask his confusion, and tucks the paper under his arm. He asks a few more passersby if they've seen Sam but when it draws a blank he turns his attention back to the paper.

Cocooned in the security of his baby, Dean opens the paper, reckoning there must be a reason for the old man's insistence he buy one. There's not much of interest, even less to Dean, until he reaches the center pages.

The articles are nondescript, everyday tales of local do-gooders and busy bodies. But it's not the writing that's got Dean's attention. No, it's the piece of notepaper folded neatly in half that falls out when he turns the page.

He picks it up and lets the paper fall into his lap. The note smells faintly of tobacco and the handwriting on it is spidery and so small Dean has to raise it right up in front of his face. It takes a couple of minutes to decipher it but eventually he manages to make sense of it.

It's an address.

Dean grabs his cell and quickly brings up the local area map on the display. He smiles wryly as he does it. _If Sam could only see me now,_ he muses, entering the zip code on the note. He waits impatiently while the information is brought up but when it does, he's glad he waited.

The map takes him to a bookstore on the outskirts of town. It's still only just after seven when he gets there, a good two hours before the store opens, but Dean reckons that's long enough for him to have a good look round before anyone notices him.

He parks the Impala a block away. Near enough for a speedy getaway if need be, but far away enough to not be conspicuous. Window shopping seems to be a popular pastime for the locals so Dean sees no reason to stand out from the crowd. He peers into the window of the store, trying to work out why he's been sent here of all places.

The books are a variety of new and old. The displays are modern and tasteful and Dean's pretty sure there's a coffee bar at the back. The sign on the door advertizes the opening hours as 9.30 till 7.00. He's still got two and a half hours to kill. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

But Dean's never been one for waiting, especially not when Sam is depending on him. The shop is conveniently located on a corner, so slipping in should prove no challenge to a Winchester.

Which is why Dean is so surprised to feel a heavy hand land on his shoulder as he crouches over the lock.

"We open soon enough, Dean Winchester," a deep voice tells him and he whirls around to confront his opponent.

Or he would if the hand holding him hadn't been so damn strong. Instead, the pressure increases, pushing him down until he's on his knees.

"Can't we talk about this?" he tries, wondering how the guy knows his name.

"But where's the fun in that?" another voice joins in, and Dean knows he's screwed.

"It was the old guy, wasn't it?" he manages to spit out, betrayal and disappointment lacing his words.

But it's like he's uttered the magic words. The hand that was holding him down releases him and instead, hooks under his arm, pulling him to his feet.

"Abel?" the second voice, a woman, asks.

Dean shrugs as he spins round to face them. "The news guy," he clarifies, assessing his new companions.

"Abel," the man confirms and holds out a hand to Dean. "Simon Turner," he introduced himself. He has a firm grip and Dean already knows the strength that lies underneath the muscular arm it's attached to.

The woman moves out of the shadows and holds out a hand in a similar gesture. "Elisa Turner."

Dean nods warily at them and shakes hands with Elisa. She's petite but Dean imagines she wears the trousers in this relationship.

"Dean Winchester," he replies. "But you already knew that, didn't you? How?"

"Let's talk about this inside," Elisa suggests, pulling a bundle of keys from some hidden corner of her person. She hands them to Simon who takes them wordlessly, opening the back door and disabling the alarm.

He leads the way into the depths of the stockroom, lined with boxes of books, some opened, some unopened, until they reach an office door. Simon looks to Elisa before continuing, unlocking the door and pushing it open. He stands to one side and waits for Dean to precede him.

Dean's not sure what to make of this turn of events but the office looks like any other office he's seen. Elisa is already in, right behind him, and is turning on the coffee machine, while Simon is still standing at the door, guarding it, Dean thinks, but he has no real basis for that thought.

"How do you know who I am?" he asks again, hand never far from his waistband and the weapon safely tucked away there.

Elisa turns back to him and smiles. "You don't need guns here, Dean," she tells him and he has the grace to feel abashed.

"Sorry," he mutters. "Habit."

"Sit down," she invites, waving at a chair in the corner. It's a comfortable idea but Dean's not quite ready to let his guard down yet.

"It's okay," he tells her. "I'll stand."

She nods in understanding and Dean gets the feeling she knows a lot about a lot of things. She settles herself on the edge of her desk. Or at least, Dean assumes it's her desk. Simon seems to be a bit redundant here in the office.

"Dean Winchester," she begins, taking a long look at him. "Hunter." She raises a hand to stop his protest. "We know about hunters, Dean," she pacifies him. "We've seen one or two in our time. Including Bobby Singer."

"You know Bobby?" Dean's not sure whether to be surprised or not. Bobby gets around, he knows that and his opinion is one to be trusted.

"Oh yes," Elisa grins. "Bobby came to us a while back but he keeps in touch now and again. You can call him if it would make you feel happier," she offers.

Dean declines, but already knows he's going to make that call the minute he's done here.

"You're looking for Sam, I understand," she continues, passing Dean a steaming mug of coffee. "He's safe. They won't hurt him. He's too important to him."

Dean sets his mug down on a filing cabinet, ignoring the burn when a scalding drop jumps out of the mug and lands on his hand. "Who the hell is this 'they' that everyone keeps talking about?" he demands, frustration getting the better of him. "How come I'm the only person in the dark in this town?"

"I'm sorry," Elisa apologizes. "I thought you knew. I thought that's why you two were in town."

"Knew what?" Dean explodes. "All I know is that my brother is missing and everyone keeps telling me he's safe, that he's not hurt, that 'they' have him. I just want some freakin' answers!"

Elisa steps forward and lays a comforting hand on his arm.

"They're the Keepers of the Books," she explains gently, and then, seeing his confusion, she tugs him to the chair, pushing him into it. "They've been around for generations, seeking, guarding and protecting the seven books of Berengar, books of enchantment and spells."

"The books were lost over four hundred years ago," Simon pipes up from by the door. "Berengar was a warlock back in the middle ages, when sorcery was rife and everyone believed in it. He worked miracles and the people loved him. He protected his village and the surrounding villages from storms and famine. He cast out demons and gifted the simple folk with charms that brought them good luck and fortune. The people all loved him and he could do no wrong."

Dean leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. "This is fascinating," he admits, "but what's it got to do with Sam?"

"The story doesn't end well," Elisa resumes the tale. "Berengar got it into his head that he should be getting some reward from his magic, decided people weren't really grateful enough. So he turned the spells around, used them to make mischief so the people would come begging for his help. Which he would give."

"At a price," Simon interjects. "And one thing led to another and the next demon he cast out had a proposition for him."

"Which had probably happened before but he'd always turned them down. This time though, he listened. And the demon persuaded him to let it be and he would be rewarded with greatness and wealth beyond compare. But it came at a price. Berengar's soul was blackened, bit by bit and in the end it was as dark and brittle as charcoal."

"The people no longer ran to him for help – they fled in terror. Something had to be done."

"Okay," Dean replies after a pause. "This is a great fairy tale, but I still don't see where Sam comes into all this."

Elisa smiles at him and passes his coffee over from the filing cupboard where he's left it. "You'll see."

Simon moves away from the door and Dean feels slightly less trapped, although trying to get past his bulk would be problematic he surmises. He settles himself just behind Dean and the hunter has to crane his neck to watch him when he talks.

"There was a deputation. The people finally had enough and they sent word to the High Council of Warlocks. Collectively they were stronger and more powerful than Berengar himself. They colluded, came up with a plan of action."

"They tried to kill him," Elisa takes up the story again and Dean feels like his head is coming unscrewed with all the twisting and turning he's doing. "But the demon he was in with was stronger still and protected him. The Council had to think of something else. They exorcised his soul."

Dean's a little confused by this course of action. "But if he was human, wouldn't that kill him?"

Elisa shakes her head. "It would," she agrees, "but for the demon protecting him. His soul couldn't be destroyed so once they exorcised it, it hung around. The Council split it into seven parts. They enshrined it in a binding spell, within the covers of seven books – the Berengar books. The books were then sent to the corners of the known world and his reign of terror and destruction was over."

"Now," Simon intones, "this is where the story gets interesting. The books lay untouched for centuries, guarded by families entrusted with keeping them hidden and safe. The books were handed down through the generations and the story behind them got lost. They became nothing more than family heirlooms. Until Joshua Bryant began to track them down."

"Joshua is a direct descendant of Berengar. He knows the history of the books, knows what they contain and he's convinced he can put Berengar's soul back together, be the vessel for it and reap the rewards."

"So why not just stop him?" Dean wonders, edging forward on his seat, halting when he feels Simon's heavy hand on his shoulder again. He swivels his head and squirms like a four-year-old waiting for dinner but the hand is quietly insistent so he tries hard, really hard, to relax even while every muscle, every sinew, every nerve is telling him to get the hell out of there and _find Sam_!

"Joshua hides behind his minions," Elisa explains, gently. She pulls a chair forward so she's opposite Dean and for the first time he notices her eyes – crystal blue and slightly creepy if he's honest. "To get to Joshua, we would have to go through tens, maybe hundreds, of innocent people."

Dean can't repress the snort the escapes his lips. "Not that innocent," he blurts out.

"Yes, Dean, they are. In the grand scheme of things, his followers are nothing more than mindless sheep. He's conned them into believing that he's the next greatest thing." She glances up at Simon who lifts his hand off of Dean, slipping silently back to the door. Dean wonders if there's some hidden signal that he missed but she's looking back at him and Simon seems to have been forgotten.

"The thing is," she shuffles to the edge of her chair and reaches her hand out, resting it on Dean's knee, "he can't do it alone."

Dean really wants to pretend he doesn't know what's coming next, but the sympathetic look, the reassuring touch on his leg, the steadying presence at his back all make it impossible for him to deny the unfolding tale. He knows that somehow, somewhere along the line, Sam plays a major part in this story, unwittingly and unwillingly.

Sam's starting to get more and more frustrated by the enigmatic answers he's being given. The girl in front of him is beginning to creep him out now. She hasn't said anything for about half an hour but she's staring at him in a dreamy way and he's not entirely sure why. The birds have started singing beyond the barn walls and he wonders how Dean is doing.

Suddenly she tilts her head to one side, listening, and Sam finds himself doing the same thing. He can just pick up the sound of footsteps and, from the way the girl in front of him breaks into a slow smile and begins to hum, he doesn't think it bodes well.

He shuffles back till he's in a corner, easier to defend himself, and the girl doesn't appear to notice. But Sam registers her back straighten, just a little, and then, without a glance at him, she rises from her position in one elegant movement and glides to the barn doors.

Opening them smoothly, she stands to one side, head bowed, as an old man, somewhere in his sixties Sam reckons, enters, leading an entourage of about fifteen others. He pauses by the girl to give her a brief, paternal pat on the cheek, before striding toward where Sam is seated in the corner.

Out of nowhere a chair is produced and he sits, looking intently at the hunter at his feet. Sam doesn't say anything but takes advantage of the closeness to study his enemy. Because he's sure now that they are enemies.

He's older than Sam first thought but his eyes are youthful and sparkling. His skin is weathered and wrinkled from years in the outdoors and his frailty is deceiving. Sam knows he could take him easily enough but he thinks the man would still be able to put up an admirable fight.

It would be a fruitless exercise though, Sam knows. His entourage consists of twelve men, all in their late twenties to mid forties, all bearing the signs of a training regime Sam recognizes as not that far removed from his own upbringing.

He's just about to scope the room for any hidden persons when the old man clears his throat, pulling Sam's attention back to him.

"I must apologize for the way you've been treated," he begins in a voice that wouldn't be out of place in a daytime TV show. "My people are unused to such greatness in our midst. I have, I'm afraid, failed to prepare them for your arrival as I would have wished." He pauses, waiting to see if Sam has anything to say.

Sam, however, is good at the waiting game and stays silent, regarding the old man impassively.

"My name is Joshua Bryant," his host introduces himself. "I believe you've already met my granddaughter, Alicia," and he waves towards the girl still waiting patiently by the door. "She's been longing to meet you, Sam. I hope you didn't find her too…intense."

Sam frowns, unable to decide what Bryant is after here. Any minute now he's half expecting the guy to produce a silver teapot and offer him a cup of tea and a slice of cake. He can't help the slight smirk that escapes with that notion.

Joshua nods thoughtfully and then stands, abruptly. "This is no good," he announces to the room in general. "We cannot keep our guest out here like some kind of livestock. It's unseemly." He pushes himself out of his seat and holds out a hand to Sam. "Let me show you to your room."

Sam eyes the proffered hand warily before standing of his own accord. He stretches his back, ignoring the pops his spine makes, and follows Joshua to the barn entrance. He feels Alicia fall into step behind him, feels her eyes on him, watching his every move as though her life depends on it.

Outside the barn door, Sam is surprised to see the sun high in the sky. He wonders just how long he was out of it. But he doesn't have long to think about it as the barn is only a hundred yards from the house Joshua appears to be leading him to. The assortment of followers have left them alone and Sam takes a quick survey of his surroundings.

Being a hunter means Sam can take in at a glance what most people miss first time round. He realizes quickly there's no point making a break for it now. The grounds between the house, barn and garden walls, over ten feet high and solid brick, are well guarded and Sam spots at least three snipers on the house roof. He suspects there must be more. He wonders if they're there for his benefit or whether Joshua has other reasons for protecting his privacy quite so dramatically.

And then they're at the door to the house, a grand affair but the bars on the ground floor windows are incongruous and worrying.

Ushering Sam through the door after her grandfather, Alicia peels away through one of the many doors to the entrance lobby and Sam is left alone with the old man. With no idea what to expect, he decides to follow him into a plush study.

Joshua turns and smiles at Sam and for the first time Sam feels almost, but not quite, at ease. He accepts the seat offered to him as the older man settles himself behind the ornate oak desk, furnished sparsely with an antique inkwell and pen, blotter and a few sheets of paper held in place by a crystal paperweight.

"You have the incantation, I presume," Joshua begins, folding his hands on the desk.

Sam finds himself shaking his head. "No," he replies. "I already told your granddaughter, I have no idea what you're talking about. You have the wrong person."

"Sam Winchester," the man returns. "I know all about you. Youngest son of John and Mary Winchester, little brother to Dean, studied law at Stanford, gave it all up on the death of your girlfriend to enter the family business." He breaks off and tilts his head to one side in contemplation. "Need I go on?"

Sam shakes his head. "So, you know who I am but that doesn't mean you've got the right person."

"Do I look like someone who does things by halves?"

"I don't know what you want from me," Sam insists.

Joshua smiles benevolently and Sam suddenly wonders what it would have been like to have a grandfather of his own. "I want the incantation, Sam. And you have to be the one to say it." He stands from his desk, and makes his way round to where Sam is sitting. "They said you don't know yet," he continues, "so we need to help you. You'll need to rest, it won't be easy." He drops a fatherly hand on Sam's shoulder and Sam is aware of a sense of peace vying for position with anxiety and he wonders whose emotions he's feeling.

"But we'll help you through it," the old man asserts. "We'll all help you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Between the Lines  
**Author**: JenF**  
****Chapter:** 2 of 4  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Winchester family, their property, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.  
**A/N:** This story originally appeared as part of the Supernatural Virtual Season. Although most of the characters are original, there is an appearance by a VS character who isn't mine. If you know the VS, you'll know who I mean when we get there.

* * *

Dean tries to ignore the way his fingers shake slightly over the keypad on his cell. He can feel the soft leather of the Impala's interior molding itself to his body as he sits behind the wheel, head spinning from what he's learnt about the Keepers of the Books. He can't quite bring himself to believe what they've told him and, when their tale was done, he couldn't get out of there quick enough.

Oh sure, they were kind to him, offered him some modicum of hope for Sam, offered him a place to stay, offered to help, but at the end of the day Winchesters do things for themselves. Their inner sanctum is a fiercely protected refuge breached only by the select few.

One of whom is currently at the end of the cell phone Dean is hesitating over. With a finality he doesn't really feel, Dean hits the send button and waits.

It takes only a few seconds for Bobby to pick up but to Dean it feels like hours. The relief that floods him when he hears the older hunter's voice takes him by surprise.

"Dean? You there?" Bobby gruff tones float down the line and Dean realizes he's drifting, eyes watching the townsfolk going about their daily grind.

"What do you know about Elisa and Simon Turner?" he asks, all business again.

Bobby sounds puzzled by the question. "Book people," he answers bluntly. "Good people," he clarifies. "Why?"

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and draws a deep breath. "Sam's missing," he tells his friend. "I don't know where he is but these people," he pauses, throwing a completely undeserved glare at the nearest man walking his dog. "This town, they all know something but no one will tell me what I need to know. Not even the Turners," and before he knows it, he's telling Bobby everything.

There's a long silence at the other end and then Dean hears Bobby shuffling around his house. "Where are you, boy?" he demands.

Dean's taken aback by the question and honestly? He's been so worried about Sam, he's forgotten where they are. He glances around till he spots a street sign.

"Hastings, Minnesota," he tells Bobby.

Bobby snorts and Dean's a little put out by his reaction. "Not where are you," and Dean can feel him shaking his head. "_Where_ are you? Are you back at the motel?"

"Uh, no. I'm just outside of town," Dean confesses. He couldn't put enough space between him and the Turners once he'd gotten out of their store and he can't explain his need for distance.

"Okay," Bobby drawls. "Where?" and it's clear to Dean that the older man is now humoring him because he's not in a fit state to take anything harsher.

"Spiral Park?" he offers, hesitantly, watching as a couple of joggers pass the Impala on their way to the open space ahead of him.

There's another silence from Bobby as he paces around his house, footsteps falling on wooden floors and Dean's surprised he can tell exactly where the older hunter is. There's a little more rustling of paper and then he hears a bemused "huh" from Bobby.

"Okay," Bobby starts. "You need to find Sam. And fast."

Dean feels his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach. "Bobby?" he asks, tentatively. "What's going on?"

"You say they think Sam's the Master, right?"

"Yeah, but how can he be, Bobby? We're not descended from warlocks. We'd _know_. I mean, yeah, okay Sammy's got some kind of freaky issues going on, but _warlocks_?" Dean's not sure who he's trying to convince the most here and he's pretty sure it sounds like he's a little freaked out himself now.

Bobby's always been the voice of reason for the Winchester boys though and now's no different.

"Dean," he snaps, gruffly. "Calm down. Your brother's no warlock. He may be … other … things but not a warlock. But they think he is which means you have to get him away from them and fast. Before they discover he's not who they think he is."

"What'll they do when they find out, Bobby?"

There's no kind way of putting this and Bobby draws a deep breath before speaking. "They'll kill him."

Dean's world blurs slightly and he closes his eyes against the encroaching grayness at the edge of his vision. "Kill him?" he mutters stupidly. But really, what else did he expect. Of course they aren't going to let Sammy just walk away. Not now. And once they find out who he really is? Not a snowball's hope in hell of walking away from that.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice is gentle now, but insistent and Dean realizes he's been calling his name for a few seconds now.

"I'm here," he reassures his friend, opening his eyes, squinting in the bright sunlight. "What do I do, Bobby?"

"You find him. Fast."

"How? I don't know where he is, Bobby. They drugged me or something. He was long gone by the time I woke up."

Bobby's tone changes faster than a bolt of lightning hitting the ground. "Drugged? Dammit boy, why didn't you tell me that earlier?"

"I'm okay. They just roofied me, or something."

"It's the 'or something' I'm worried about," Bobby worries.

"Honestly, Bobby," Dean insists. "I'm fine. A little headache, but it's gone now." He pauses and does a mental run through of how he's feeling. He's mildly surprised to find he's not actually lying about his health. Apart from the gnawing anxiety in his gut that he can easily attribute to Sam's missing status, he really does feel okay.

"You need me to come out there?" Bobby queries, already knowing the answer's going to be "no" but having to ask anyway.

"I'm good, Bobby." Dean doesn't disappoint. "I just need to know who I can trust round here. Those Turners, they're just…" he pauses, looking for the right word and failing.

"Yeah," Bobby agrees. "But they're solid people. They'll be there as and when you need though. Take a little gettin' used to though."

There's a silence as neither man knows what to say next. Dean needs to be doing something, anything, to find his brother and Bobby doesn't know how to help. He thinks the Turners are Dean's best bet but it sounds like Dean has some sort of personality clash with one or other of them. Or both, he muses, knowing the younger man as he does.

"How do I find him, Bobby?" and the loss in Dean's voice has Bobby's heart breaking.

_SNSNSN_

_This is wrong,_ Sam thinks as he looks up at the chandelier on the ceiling. The softness of the mattress beneath him, the goose down pillow he's resting his head on, the gilt mirrors and portraits peppering the walls of the room – they're all wrong. As prisons go, this one's not bad.

But it's still a prison. First thing Sam did was check the door and windows. All locked, no surprises there. The en suite bathroom's the same. Locked and probably alarmed.

So he does the most sensible thing he can think of – he rests. Not because he's been instructed to, but because he's going to need to have his wits about him when Dean comes for him. He'll need to be alert. Whatever Joshua and his crew have planned for him, he's not looking forward to it and he's not fool enough to think it's going to be a walk in the park either.

He realizes he's drifting off to sleep when the sound of a key in the lock jerks him back to full attention. He's up off the bed before the lock shoots back into its lodging and the door swings softly open.

Alicia is standing on the threshold, a silver tray in her hand, balanced as expertly as a Michelin-trained waitress. She glides to the table by the window and sets her burden down. Then she turns to Sam with an innocent smile that has no business being as sultry as it is.

"Grandpa said you should eat something." Her voice oozes like warm honey and Sam has to shake himself down before he's drawn into her web. He studies the contents of the tray with distrust and a little amazement.

Joshua Bryant knows how to treat guests, he surmises. It's just a pity he's not one of them. There's a crystal decanter, three quarters full with sparkling water, and a matching crystal tumbler. There's a plate of pancakes, a silver jug of syrup, a rack of toast and a dish of butter and various jellies and spreads. The cutlery is sparkling but, Sam notes with grudging admiration, blunt enough to allow a four-year-old free reign in complete safety.

Sam takes in the fact there's only one of everything and takes some solace in the implication Alicia won't be joining him.

But it seems he's wrong on that score too. The girl simply stands to one side and watches him. He wonders if she's there to ensure he eats and, just out of spite and in defiance of his complaining stomach, he ignores the food and drink.

They stare at one another in silence for an eternity until Alicia can't take it anymore.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sam," she tells him. "I would never do anything to you."

Sam's not reassured by her response. "So why are you still here?" he demands, wishing she'd just go away.

But she doesn't acknowledge the hostility in the hunter's statement. She just gazes up at him in a way Sam's really not comfortable with, and settles herself on the edge of the bed. She pats her hand on the mattress beside her, silently beckoning Sam to come join her.

_Like that's gonna happen,_ Sam muses as he steps in the opposite direction. He doesn't miss the scowl that flits across her face and is then gone like a snowflake in Hawaii.

"Oh, Sammy," she pouts. "Don't be like that. I thought we'd gone through all this in the barn."

Sam smirks. Yes, he remembers the exchange in the barn but apparently they have different interpretations of the outcome. So he just tilts his head, raises an eyebrow and waits for her to continue.

She doesn't disappoint. "Grandpa said I should look after you. Make sure you have everything you need before…" She trails off with a feminine shrug and Sam doesn't like the implication.

"Before what?" he demands.

But she just smiles enigmatically and shakes her head. "Oh, let's not worry about that now, Sammy. Let's just enjoy our time together. Get to know each other. After all, if we're going to be together, it makes sense," and she pats the bed again.

"I don't need to get to know you," he informs her, bluntly. "I'm not going to be with you. Ever." He wonders briefly if he's been too harsh when her façade cracks slightly.

"But Sammy," she starts, tears forming in her eyes.

"It's Sam," the hunter hisses, all misgivings about his previous tone forgotten.

She looks up at him from beneath her hair and he watches in frustration as a single tear rolls down her perfectly formed cheek.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to upset you." And she bursts into tears, full on sobbing and crying and Sam doesn't know where to put himself.

He hesitates, stepping towards her. "Look," he ventures, thinking he could easily snap her in half so what's holding him back? "It's just, no one calls me that, okay? No one." _Except Dean._

He spots a box of tissues on the dresser and passes her one. She accepts it gratefully, brushing his hand with her fingers as she takes it.

It's like electricity shooting up his arm and Sam snatches his hand away with shock. Alicia doesn't seem to have noticed anything out of the ordinary and as Sam shakes his hand, she dabs at her eyes and then wrings her hands round the tissue.

"Who are you?" Sam asks, eyes narrowing as the residual tingle plays up and down his arm.

"What d'you mean?" she asks. "You know who I am, Sam." She stands up and takes an elegant step to him. She puts her unnaturally warm hand on his chest. "In here, Sam," she clarifies. "You know it, in here."

He steps away from her and this time she just watches him curiously. "See," he tells her. "That's the thing. I _don't_ know it. I don't know anything. You and your grandpa? You've got the wrong person."

He knows she doesn't believe him when she just smiles up at him and nods thoughtfully. "I know you think that, Sammy…"

"Sam," he corrects her, automatically.

"…but that's why we're going to help you. You're lost. That's all. You're lost and alone and frightened," she plows on, ignoring his interjection. "You've been lost and alone and frightened for a long time now. Longer than even we thought. But it's all going to be okay now. We found you, Sammy. We're going to bring you home. Where you're meant to be."

She takes her hand away from his chest and there's that sense of loss again that Sam doesn't understand. She looks at her wristwatch, an expensive affair of diamonds and silver, and frowns slightly, her forehead creasing, and for a second Sam wonders if she's older than he first thought.

"I don't understand," she mutters to herself. "They should be ready by now."

"What for?" Sam doesn't really want to know the answer but he can't help the question falling past his lips.

"Why, for you, Sammy," she tells him, reaching out to take his hand in hers.

He pulls away from her outstretched hand and backs away from her as far as he can, as far as the bathroom door. He thinks again about snapping her in half but so far he doesn't think she's supernatural and he's not reached the stage where he can just kill because it's the easiest way out of a situation.

Her face falls and he wonders if she's about to cry again when there's a knock on the door and she lets her hand drop to her side.

The door opens and there's a woman standing on the other side, older than Alicia but not as old as Joshua. She looks at Alicia and then turns her gaze on Sam, sizing him up, making him feel like a bug under a microscope. Then she opens her arms to Alicia.

"They're ready, my darling," she tells the younger woman. "It won't be long now. Soon, my love, soon you'll fulfill your destiny."

_SNSNSN_

Bobby's advice that Dean go back to the motel and rest doesn't sit well with the younger hunter, but he sees the value in what his friend is saying. Bobby said he'd ring, he'd do some research but he also said Dean would be no good to his brother if he was too exhausted to function properly. He didn't say anything but Dean reckons he's worried about the whole drug fiasco too.

So Dean's waiting on a phone call in another crappy motel on the road to nowhere, trying to rest when all he really wants to be doing is finding Sam.

He stalks around the room until he feels dizzy. He lies on the bed, trying to sleep, but he knows it's a pointless exercise. There aren't even any Magic Fingers to distract him. He flicks through a thousand different cable channels, finds the pay per view, but not even that can divert his attention from Sam.

Eventually he flips open Sam's laptop, trying not to dwell on the last time it was used. Sam hasn't closed it down properly though and the last set of web pages are still open. Dean can't help feeling a fresh wave of despair as he absently looks at what his little brother was browsing, obviously intending to come back to.

With nothing else to do and no phone call coming through, Dean decides to do his own bit of research. He enters "Berengar" into the search engine and sits back to peruse the results. There's not much more than the Turners have already told him and he's beginning to feel his head spinning.

He wonders vaguely about the drugs he was given last night. His mouth, he realizes, is as dry as sandpaper and he's a little more thirsty than he's used to. Sighing, he pushes himself away from the table and Sam's laptop and makes his way to the sink. He pours himself a glass of water which he downs in one gulp and is just refilling the glass when his cell comes to life, the sound shattering his solitude and making him jump.

Bobby's true to his word and Dean smiles when he sees his friend's name sitting merrily on the screen. He flips his phone open and bypasses the normal pleasantries.

"What've you got?" he demands, knowing in the back of his head Bobby will forgive his temporary lack of conversational skills.

The older man grunts a reply that could be interpreted in many ways. "I've got an address," he advises and Dean is on his feet scouting round for his jacket almost before Bobby draws a second breath.

"Where?"

Bobby reels off an address that means nothing to Dean but he doesn't care. This is the middle of nowhere. Bobby could be giving him the address to the local FBI office and he wouldn't know any different. He spins around the room searching for the keys to his baby.

"…you listenin' to me?"

"What?" He's distracted and honestly? No, he wasn't listening. But he is now because Bobby's huffing down the line.

"It's like a fortress, Dean," he's saying. "You can't just go blasting in there. You need a plan. And backup. I can be there by nightfall."

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean apologizes. "I can't wait that long. Sam can't wait that long." He's already out of the motel room, keys in hand and weapons at his side.

"Dean," Bobby's getting insistent. "At least call Elisa and Simon. Let them know where you're going. You need backup. Someone who'll watch out for you."

"Sam's my backup, Bobby. You know that."

"Dean." Bobby's lost the fatherly edge to his voice only to replace it with the steely determination Dean knows not to cross swords with. He tried it once when Dad was away and Sam had been winding them both up something chronic. Never again.

He stops in his tracks and takes a deep breath. "I know, Bobby," he concedes. "But this is Sam we're talking about. He's my responsibility. I gotta find him." His voices trails off into silence which Bobby meets with a silence of his own.

"Just, be careful Dean," he finally instructs. "Don't go rushing in without usin' your head."

"I won't," Dean replies, yanking open the door of the Impala. "I promise."

_SNSNSN_

Bobby wasn't lying when he said Sam was being held in a fortress, and Dean wonders if maybe he should have waited for the older hunter to join him. But then he looks at the six foot high walls and decides whatever's going on behind them needs to stop now.

He crouches in the shrub beside the long driveway leading to wrought iron gates, already wondering how he's going to get inside without triggering the admittedly impressive security system. He's counted at least three CCTV cameras and the infrared motion sensors he just knows are going to litter his pathway between here and Sam.

He ducks lower as a Cadillac Escalade cruises down to the gate which swings open silently and gracefully. Dean can't see through the blacked out windows, doesn't know if he's been spotted. But he's a damned good hunter and he can hide just as easily as he can track his prey so he's not overly worried.

_Prey_ he muses, wondering when he started thinking of Sam as his prey. He smiles wryly to himself and decides it's just another indication of their warped way of life.

He's startled out of his reverie by another car purring down the driveway and he narrows his eyes. It's a sleek sports car, an import if the driver's position is anything to go by, and the top is down so he gets a good look at the occupants.

The driver is about his age, he reckons, and looks relaxed and confident. He's driving with only one hand on the wheel and, if Dean is any judge of character, his other hand is resting on the thigh of his passenger. Even through the direness of the situation, Dean can't help the grudging admiration he feels for the driver. The body attached to the leg is, quite frankly, gorgeous and exudes sex appeal on the breeze. She could be a modern day Marilyn Monroe with her blonde hair and silk head scarf.

As the car stops for the gates to open, Dean concentrates hard on the conversation going between the pair.

"…can't believe we're finally here," the woman is saying, excitement peppering her statement and a smile on her pretty, but vacant face.

"It was always a matter of time," her companion replies. "Joshua was always going to find Winchester," and he gives her a patronizing pat on that beautiful thigh.

Dean finds himself clenching his fists so tightly his nails are digging into his palms and he has to take several deeps breaths to clear the mist of fury that's descended over him. How dare anyone talk about his little brother like that? And who the hell does this Joshua Bryant think he is? Sammy's not some prize to be claimed by the first weirdo freak that fancies a little adventure.

Once Dean's got himself centered again, the sleek black motor is slipping through the gates and Dean's just about got enough wits about him to watch the surveillance camera to check out its tracking route. He notices it doesn't quite reach the corner of the gate and if he's really, really careful, he reckons he can scale the gate at that point without being spotted.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

But just as he readies himself to make his first, and only, attempt at gaining access to the property, he hears yet another vehicle approaching. Ducking back down under cover of the shrubbery, his curses turn to hope as he studies the huge SUV. Part of him wonders why all these cars are arriving now, but mostly he just wants to get in.

The rear panel of the vehicle, he realizes, offers him perfect cover past the CCTV and as the SUV slows for the gate to open, he slips out, crouching low next to the back of the car, and he can't quite supress the triumphant, if silent, whoop of joy as he slips over the threshold and finds himself hiding in a completely different hedge.

Ignoring what has become a steady stream of traffic, Dean takes a moment to get his bearings. The house in front of him looks impressive but, to his trained eye, not impenetrable. He spots the guards, hears dogs barking round the back somewhere and he knows he probably only has minutes to get into the house before he's found.

Squatting down, taking his time, just like Dad taught him, Dean turns his attention back to the house itself. He's seen places like this before, on the TV, in films, even in the odd history book he forced his way through as a school kid. Now he wishes he'd paid more attention to those classes but Miss Wilson was just way too distracting. He could do with her here now to point him in the right direction.

He decides there's no way in through the front so his best course of action is to get round the back. He hopes the dogs are tethered somewhere but he doubts it. Thing is, he's faced creatures far scarier than rottweilers before for much less and he's damned if he's going to let a little canine obstruction keep him from Sam.

All things considered, Dean gets further than he'd anticipated before he hears a weary sigh and the sound of a gun hammer being cocked.

"Oh, Dean," a woman murmurs. "If I'd known you missed me this much, I never would have left you in the alley."

_SNSNSN_

Sam's come to the conclusion that the older woman is somehow related to Alicia but he's not quite sure how. She's definitely not her mother because the girl called her Charlotte. She could be an aunt, Sam muses, there's certainly some facial similarities and shared mannerisms. She seems to have some sort of maternal, protective instincts towards her charge as she pulls her into her arms and hugs her.

Alicia goes to her without question, without another look at Sam, and her face lights up.

"They're ready?" she asks eagerly, and when Charlotte nods, she skips a little across the room. Sam half expects her to start clapping her hands in glee. But it doesn't happen.

The older woman turns to Sam and her eyes harden. Sam does his best not to shudder but it's hard. Her features, soft and welcoming when talking to Alicia, are cold and flinty over the girl's shoulder and Sam finds it interesting, in a detached sort of way, that she doesn't want to incur Alicia's wrath. He files that little fact away for future reference.

"It's time," she tells him bluntly and turns away from him, pulling Alicia from the room.

Sam's left standing stupidly in his plush prison, considering his options. They've left the door wide open, clearly expecting him to follow them without question. He could make a run for it now and he half-seriously looks around for anything he can use as a weapon.

His eyes light on the tray Alicia left on the table and the crystal glass in particular. It seems a shame to break such a beautiful piece of glassware but a jagged edge could give him the advantage he might need.

He steps towards it and is just reaching for it when there's a polite cough from the doorway.

"I do hope you're not thinking of doing anything silly, Sam," Joshua comments, nonchalantly. "That crystal cost me more than money." He steps over to the table and runs a finger down the glass and for a moment Sam thinks he's lost in thought. He can't help be fascinated by the old man. "This was given to me for services rendered," he explains and turns to Sam with a smile. "Many years ago, Sam. Once upon a time I was an agile man, many strings to my bow. I'm sure you know what that's like." He picks up the crystal and turns it round, letting the light catch the many facets, sending rainbows dancing on the furniture.

Then he puts it down forceably, making Sam jump.

"But enough reminiscing," he states. "We have work to do, Sam. Alicia is preparing herself and we need to get you ready."

Sam can't help himself. "Preparing herself for what?" he asks.

"For the ceremony, my boy. The ceremony." He holds his arm out, ushering an unwilling Sam through the door and out into the hallway.

"What ceremony?"

"The Recitation of course," Joshua replies with the patience commonly bestowed upon a small child. "For when she and you become one."

"For what?" Sam demands, stopping in his tracks. This is the second time the subject of his future with Alicia has been mentioned and he needs to get things straight in his head.

"Don't worry, Sam," his host pacifies him, gently nudging him back into motion. "It will all become clear after your preparations."

Joshua's voice has changed slightly, more insistent and the hand he has at the small of Sam's back increases the pressure, pushing Sam forward with a strength that belies his appearance. He falls into silence refusing to answer any more of the hunter's questions and Sam notes they've been joined discreetly by two of what he's come to regard as Joshua's bodyguards. So he falls into line and lets the older man lead him down the hallway to the staircase.

Where Joshua stops abruptly and turns to Sam with an apologetic look on his face. Sam's surprised and takes a step backwards, straight into one of their companions.

"I'm sorry about this, Sam," Joshua says. "I really am."

Sam's confusion lasts only a second before the man behind him grabs him by both biceps and holds tight. Sam struggles against the grip but it's useless. The guy might be smaller than him but he's made of pure muscle and brawn. His fingers dig in painfully and Sam knows it's going to bruise. He tries to pull away, throwing his head back in an effort to headbutt his captor. But the man knows his stuff and easily avoids any contact.

Sam's about to kick back with his leg when he hears the sound of a gun being primed. Shocked by this turn of events, he looks to Joshua who is standing at the top of the stairs with a silver handgun in his hand. Sam freezes, uncertain of what the man intends.

"Please understand, Sam," Joshua starts, tilting his head to one side. "We're doing this to help you. I don't want to hurt you," and he nods at the man holding Sam.

Sam feels his arms being pulled behind his back, followed by the far too familiar sensation of cold metal restraints being fastened round his wrists. He tugs instinctively at them and Joshua gives him a sad look that's almost more frightening than the bonds holding him.

"I'm sorry," Joshua offers, "but there's no other way. This isn't going to be easy, Sam, and we don't want you to hurt yourself. We're protecting you, even if you can't see it that way yet."

"Let me go!" Sam hisses, hiding the fear behind his anger. "Whatever it is you want, I don't have it. Get it?"

"But you do," Joshua insists, laying a comforting hand on Sam's arm. "And I'll show you. I'll help you. You'll wonder what all this fuss was about. You just have to trust me, Sam."

"I'll kill you," Sam threatens, the leaden ball in his gut fuelling his anger. He doesn't understand, doesn't want to understand. He just wants to get out of here. He wants Dean to come and rescue him. He wants Dad to come and rescue him. Hell, he wants _anyone_ to come and rescue him.

But it's not happening.

Joshua shakes his head and turns away from Sam. He leads the way down the staircase and Sam has no option but to follow, the goon at his back making sure of his compliance.

The staircase takes them back to the main entrance hall where there's a maid looking nervously to Joshua. She holds a tray with a note folded on it. She offers it to her employer and backs away a couple of feet, not looking at Joshua. Sam watches the interaction with interest. She's the first person he's seen who's not best friends with the man and he wonders what the back story is.

She glances up as Joshua hands the note back to her, and catches Sam's eye. He sees sympathy there and that both worries and reassures him. He thinks it means somewhere, somehow, he may have an ally here.

But then Joshua breaks the moment by casting a knowing look in his direction before turning back to the maid.

"Tell them to do nothing," he instructs. "It might prove useful."

Sam briefly wonders at his words as the maid nods and gives the hunter one last rueful glance. Then he's being jostled along and down another staircase he hadn't noticed earlier. It reminds him of an old horror movie – the staircase behind the door, the candelabras on the walls, the cobwebs hanging from the old oak beams.

Except there are no beams and no cobwebs. The steps down to the basement are spotlessly clean and the candles lighting the way, whilst cliché in the extreme, are suspiciously scented like cinnamon and nutmeg. If Sam wasn't so worried about what's behind door number three, he'd find this all a bit amusing.

_SNSNSN_

Dean's done with the cursing. It didn't help when the redhead pulled a gun on him and it didn't help when she slapped him round the face for not remembering her. But really? Not his fault. She's the one that roofied him, after all. How the hell does she expect him to remember anything after that? Although looking at her, he suspects it was one of his wilder encounters.

She's still mildly pissed with him but he doesn't really care. She got him into the house, although he wishes it was under other circumstances, and that means he's one step closer to Sammy.

He's not too happy with his current position, it has to be said. The cuffs around his wrists are a touch too tight and they really didn't need to hang him up like a piece of meat. He told them as much although, on reflection, he could have been a little more tactful.

Hanging here in the cellar with one or two more bruises than before, he wonders how much help he's going to be to Sammy when he finds him but he's still thinking positively here. He's still thinking "when" and not "if."

He's lost track of time. He could've been here for one hour, or three hours. It doesn't matter though because time becomes insignificant when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He listens hard and counts, three, maybe four, separate rhythms. And his heart lifts when he recognizes one of them.

Sam.

Sam is out there, almost within reach, and Dean can't get to him. And it's killing him.

The door opens and Dean thinks that really there should be creaks and groans accompanying the swing of the hinges. He half-expects bats to start swooping down from the ceiling and finds himself checking out the corners of the cellar.

The chink of light from behind the door grows wider and an old man strides purposefully through. Dean knows he doesn't like him before he even gets his second foot over the threshold. Their eyes meet and the hunter feels a chill snake down his spine. This, he realizes, is the man he's going to kill before he and Sam get the hell out of Dodge.

But then it's irrelevant as Sam stumbles into the room, hands clearly bound behind his back somehow. Dean's attention is all on his brother, eyes sweeping up and down, checking for injuries and injustices that have been done to him.

He's relieved to see that other than the immediate restraints, Sam's unharmed, although when he studies his brother's face, he can see the latent fear in his eyes, vying for position with an obvious hatred of the older man.

Sam's not spotted him yet and he supposes that's because he's been put in the darkest corner they could find. That and Sam's not expecting to see him there. Time to remedy that.

"Hey Sammy. It's good to see you."

Sam's head shoots up at the sound of Dean's voice and he peers into the gloom. His heart skips a beat when he sees his older brother dangling like a side of beef in a butcher's shop but it doesn't overwhelm the sense of relief flooding through him.

"Great rescue plan, Dean," he jokes, breaking away from the hands holding him and trying to get to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean agrees, wryly. "Not quite what I had in mind. But, hey. I'm here. You're here. What d'you say we kick some ass and get out of here?"

Sam smiles at the blind optimism in his brother's statement and shakes his head. "How do you propose to that?" he asks and he can almost see Joshua bristling.

"Can't let the enemy know all our plans, Sam," Dean retorts. "Gotta keep the upper hand y'know."

"And how do you come to the conclusion that's what you have?" Joshua queries, stepping forward into Dean's personal space. "You have no advantage here at all. You are nothing here."

Dean tilts his head to one side. "Then you just let me down and I'll walk away. No questions." He bestows a Winchester smile on the old man. It doesn't go down too well but he wasn't really expecting it to.

Joshua leans forward until Dean can count the wrinkles round his eyes. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?" he hisses.

"No," Dean hisses back, "but I'm hoping."

"Dean," Sam interjects. He can't hear the exchange but he knows Dean better than anyone and he knows at any minute now his brother is going to push it just that little bit too far. And then he won't be in a position to help him at all. Not that he's much use to Sam at the moment.

Dean glares one last time at Joshua and then blatantly ignores him, looking over his shoulder to Sam. "You okay?" he asks, trusting Sam to answer honestly.

"I'm fine," Sam manages to reply before he feels hands round his arms again and he's pulled away from Dean.

"Hey!" Dean yells but it appears Joshua's had enough of his interruptions. A nod from the man and Dean's got a silk scarf in his mouth and all further verbal communication is reduced to muffled grunts. Dean twists and throws his head from side to side but all that gets him is a firm, bruising grip round his jaw and a lack of purchase on the ground. Joshua's lacky seems to enjoy his struggles and once he's got the gag firmly tied, he steps back from Dean and kicks his feet out from under him.

As the sudden pull on his arms causes both Dean and Sam to cry out in protest and, in Dean's case, pain, Joshua steps away towards the maid he had spoken with earlier. She holds out a leather gourd and bows her head as he takes it from her.

"Don't be afraid, child," he murmurs to her, reaching out with his free hand to place it on her head, as though bestowing a blessing upon her. "You've done everything asked of you. You will be rewarded."

Sam thinks she's shaking slightly as she nods and backs respectfully away from her employer. But he doesn't have time to consider the implications of that as he's suddenly shoved from behind and he stumbles into the limelight. Heavy hands on his shoulders force him to his knees and Joshua's right in front of him. He can hear Dean's stifled cries of protest increasing in volume and, he suspects, creativity.

Joshua has a hand on his head now and his thoughts are becoming muddled, fuzzy round the edges. He can hear a humming somewhere in the background and his vision tunnels until all he can see is Joshua, all he can hear is Joshua and all he knows is Joshua is not a threat.

Dean watches in horror as Sam succumbs to whatever Joshua is doing to him. He's struggling to recognize the compliant man on his knees and when Sam lifts his head to receive the words Joshua is chanting, Dean renews his struggles against his restraints, even as he knows the futility of his actions.

Through the gag, he's screaming death threats to Joshua and his cronies. But in his head he's screaming in denial as the man before his brother lifts the gourd to Sam's lips and lets a bright, sparkling liquid flow into his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Between the Lines  
**Author**: JenF**  
****Chapter:** 3 of 4  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Winchester family, their property, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.  
**A/N:** This story originally appeared as part of the Supernatural Virtual Season. Although most of the characters are original, there is an appearance by a VS character who isn't mine. If you know the VS, you'll know who I mean when we get there.

* * *

At first Sam wonders what all the fuss was about. The liquid slipping down his throat is thick and slides down easily. He tries to place the taste but struggles with the sweetness. He thinks it's probably honey but he'll accept he's wrong on that one.

It dulls his already muted senses and although he can hear some sort of commotion in the background, he struggles to place any importance to it. He feels cocooned, safe, ensconced in a virtual sheepskin rug, protected from the elements. All he can see is his host and even he's beginning to look dull and muted round the edges. Sam feels an uncontrollable desire to giggle. He lets his head fall forward onto his chest.

But then comes the aftertaste and it's not pleasant. It's bitter and sharp and it burns. It burns so bad he thinks his throat is about to explode outwards. He swipes at his mouth, vaguely registering the new-found freedom of movement.

Then the liquid hits his stomach and as the contents of his belly rebel against the drink, he can't help the scream escaping his lips. He moves his hands from his mouth to his gut, falling forward from his position on his knees, curling in on himself as though that'll take the pain away.

But it doesn't. When has life ever been that kind to the Winchesters anyway?

Sam screams again, a gut wrenching cry from the heart, but halfway through, his voice vanishes. It doesn't peter out, doesn't falter, doesn't crack. It just vanishes. Like someone somewhere has flipped a switch and suddenly he just doesn't have a voice.

But that's not all that disappears, and the lack of vocal ability is the least of his problems. When he manages to crack open his eyes he can't see Joshua anymore. Or Dean. Or even the damned cellar he thought he was in.

What he can see though chills him to the very core, sweeps away the acidic burn of whatever the hell Joshua fed him and leaves him immobile and stupefied.

His vision tunnels, all other external stimuli have gone and in the center of his sight line stands a person he thought gone forever. A person he himself killed, or thought he had. He wonders if he's dead and that's why she's here. Wonders if he's finally gone to Hell, too late to help Dean, help Dad, help save the world. It's the only thing that makes sense to him right now.

And then she moves forward, a smile on her face that could freeze the Sahara in one fell swoop.

"Sam Winchester," she breathes and Sam's surprised the air doesn't fog in front of her face. "Little Sammy Winchester. Still going strong I see."

Sam opens his mouth to reply, searching his mind for some scathing comeback and realizing he's not channeling Dean right now.

"Hush," she commands and Sam finds he has no option but to comply. But in his head all he can think is _How the hell can she be here? _

"Don't worry. I'm still dead. You did a mighty fine job on that one, Sam." She steps towards him and squats down in front of him. "But you really didn't think that would be the last you'd hear of me, did you? I'm in your head, Sam. You and me? We're linked for all eternity. You'll never be rid of me."

She reaches out a hand in a gesture of loving familiarity and if Sam's stomach wasn't already churning he's pretty sure this would turn the lining of his belly inside out and back to front. He glares as best he can through stinging eyes and manages, finally, to spit one word out.

"Mia!"

The hand reaching for him grasps his chin and he wonders how it can feel so real when he knows she's dead. Hell, she's just admitted as much. She's in his head for God's sake! How can his head fool his nerve endings like this? He's got a strong mind, he should be able to think her out of existence as easily as blowing out a candle. But it's not happening and from the look in her eyes she knows what he's doing. Or trying to do, anyway.

"Not working, is it sugar?" she teases, digging nails into the side of his jaw hard enough to leave little white crescents in his flesh. "I told you, Sam. I'm in your head. When you did that freaky head trick of yours back at Stull you didn't quite think it through. Yeah, you absorbed my powers and bounced them back at me. But that's not all you absorbed. Some stuff just stayed there in the back of your head. Waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Sam manages to hiss out through dried lips.

"For this," Mia laughs. "For Joshua to find me...you…whoever."

"Why?"

Mia drops his jaw forcefully and stands to full height. Sam thinks he's pissed her off but really can't bring himself to care. He watches her fold her arms and thinks any minute now she's going to stamp her foot in temper.

"Because _I_ was the Master, Sam. Not you. Not Joshua. Not his precious Alicia. Me! Berengar was _my_ ancestor. The Books were _my_ inheritance. You? You were my insurance policy."

Sam frowns as he watches Mia's tirade. She's starting to waver round the edges slightly and Sam's having trouble keeping her in focus. He blinks and shakes his head as hard as he dare, which isn't very hard admittedly, and squints at her. She seems to notice his troubles and before he realizes it, she's back in his face, hand under his chin tilting his head up so he has no choice but to make eye contact.

"Oh no, no, no," she sings. "No fading out yet, Winchester. We've not even started."

But it makes no difference to Sam as his eyes take on a will of their own, sliding shut as Mia's voice fades into the distance along with everything else.

SNSNSN

Not for the first time Dean wishes there was a window in this hellhole of a cellar. He's lost all sense of time. Again. And he's lost Sam. Again.

He thought he was immune to most things life could possibly throw at him but Sam's screams? Nope. Never going to be immune to that. Add the way his little brother had crashed to the floor and the blood chilling way all movement stopped? It was almost a blessing when Joshua had instructed his men to take Sam's limp body away. He'd spared a cold glance in Dean's direction with a reassurance that Sam was alive and "about to serve his purpose."

How long ago had that been? Dean swings on his bindings in a half-hearted attempt to regain a sense of purpose, a belief he's doing something – anything – to help Sam. Even though he knows the handcuffs have been designed to hold the most skilled escape artist in place, he has to try.

The cellar's been empty since they took Sam away and he's beginning to wish he'd listened to Bobby. Maybe he should've called the Turners. He might not entirely trust them but right now they're looking pretty damned attractive. It's been a long time since Dean's doubted himself and he doesn't like it.

Then there's a light, a glimmer of hope, as the door opens and the light spills through. It's artificial light so Dean reckons it must be at least evening, maybe even later. He stills his swaying and squints at the silhouette on the threshold. It's a woman and Dean's spirits lift. As long as it's not that redhead he might be in with a chance of charming his way out of here. Or at the very least, find out where Sam is, what they're doing to him, who he's going to have to kill first.

He hears the click of heels on the stone flooring and he finds himself bracing himself but he doesn't know what for. Then she flicks a switch and he has to squint against the sudden flood of harsh light.

When he manages to open his eyes again and focus, he sees the maid from earlier, silently going about her business. Which seems to entail clearing away the detritus from the earlier ceremony. She pays no attention to Dean and he takes the opportunity to study her, sizing her up.

She's younger than he thought at first and her face is worn with what is probably years of hard, unappreciated work. The lines round her eyes and mouth look out of place and her brow is furrowed beyond her years. She seems to be engrossed in her work and her shoulders are hunched, as though she's expecting to be berated at any minute.

She looks out of place here to Dean.

Then she turns to him and seems to notice his eyes on her for the first time. She drops her head slightly but Dean's pretty sure there's a blush to her cheeks that wasn't there a second ago. He tilts his head at her and raises his eyebrows. She doesn't seem to understand what he's getting at but that's okay. If she's confused, she only has to get rid of his gag. He pleads to her with his eyes, knowing full well the devastation those eyes can wreak.

Eventually she succumbs and steps over to him. Her hands hover in front of her, uncertain where they should go. Then she raises timid eyes to him and gently removes the gag from his mouth. Dean swallows compulsively a couple of times, croaks out a word of thanks to her.

She turns to go but to Dean she's a lifeline and possibly his only hope.

"Wait," he calls, and she stops in her tracks. Dean doesn't want to scare her off but he doesn't want her to go just yet. He has questions and she might just have the answers. He's encouraged by her stillness. "Where did they take my brother?"

She shakes her head and looks down at the floor, back still turned to Dean and he can all but feel her despair. "Back to his room," she tells him.

"Is he …" Dean can't quite bring himself to finish the question but luck seems to be on his side.

"He'll be alright," the maid reassures him and turns to face him. "They'll look after him. He's too valuable to them not to," and Dean's surprised by the bitterness in her statement.

"Listen," he begins, testing the handcuffs once more, just for the hell of it. "I need to get him out of here, but…" and he casts a glance up at his chains.

The maid laughs humorlessly. "Don't we all," she comments under her breath and suddenly Dean sees his breakthrough.

"I can help you," he promises, not really knowing what he's promising but hoping he's reading the situation right. Looks like he is.

She stares at him and for a minute he wonders if he's got it wrong. Her eyes have hardened and the lines around her mouth have tightened. "Help me with what?" she virtually hisses. "What is it you think I need?"

He decides to take a stab in the dark, trusting his initial instincts.

"I can help you get out of here," he tells her and studies her closely, watching for a reaction, something to give him hope.

And there it is. The softening of her face, the almost non-existent wobble of her lower lip. He knows he's won, knows he has to keep going.

"I know you don't want to be here," he presses on. "I know you don't want any part of this. Sam and me? We can help you. We'll get you out of here."

"Why would you do that?" she asks and Dean thinks she's on the verge of tears. He's not the one she needs if she's about to have a complete emotional breakdown. That's far more Sam's thing.

"Because you don't belong here," the hunter tells her gently, suddenly recognizing the truth in his words. She's not like the other people he's encountered so far and it doesn't sit right with him to leave her here in this excuse of a life.

She shakes her head sadly. "You can't help me. Not now."

"Yes," Dean insists. "I can. I just need Sam and then you and me and him? We'll be out of here so fast you won't even have time to put your shoes on."

She drops her head and Dean thinks, hopes, she's considering the offer, considering the possibilities. She's silent for so long though, Dean's almost convinced himself it's a lost cause when she finally looks up to him again and offers him a sad, slightly apologetic smile.

"Okay," she agrees. "What do I need to do?"

SNSNSN

When Sam opens his eyes again he's back in the room they seem to have decided is his. He's got the headache from hell and everything is slightly fuzzy in his memory. He thinks Dean is here somewhere, he's sure he remembers some witty remarks that could only have sprung from his brother's smart mouth. But it's all so vague and that worries Sam more than the headache pounding away behind his eyeballs.

He groans silently and turns on his side, registering the softness of the bed and the cool crispness of the linen. His stomach feels like he's gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson, clenching and relaxing rhythmically with the beating of his heart.

He starts when a wet cloth is placed on his forehead and it takes all he has not to lash out at the intrusion in his misery. The fingers laced round the washcloth are long and soft and definitely not Dean's. Which confuses Sam because the only person who takes care of him like this is his big brother. Or Bobby. And he knows Bobby's not here because fingers this soft have never seen the underside of a Chevy.

"Sam?"

He screws his eyes shut against the flood of memories the voice provokes. He knows it's Alicia and he really, really doesn't want anything to do with her now. Not now he thinks – no, he _knows_ – they've got Dean somewhere in this luxurious abode, chained up like an animal.

Before there was a chance, just a slight chance, he could have persuaded her to help him, to get him out of here and find Dean. But now? Now all he wants to do is ring her pretty little neck until her eyes bulge out of their sockets and her veins burst through her skin.

Wait. Where the hell did that thought come from? Sam doesn't think those thoughts. Dean, maybe, but Sam? Never.

He mentally shakes himself down, purges the wickedness from his mind and squints at her through surprisingly clear eyes.

She smiles at him and he feels his skin crawl with disgust and just a little amusement. "You're awake."

_Stating the obvious_, Sam thinks uncharitably, and so he just grunts at her. She doesn't appear to take offence at his response, simply settles herself down on the edge of his bed and reaches a hand out toward his head. He jerks back reflexively and she lets her hand fall on the pillow, close enough for Sam to feel the warmth pulsing off her. She tilts her head to one side and regards him through puzzled eyes.

"I don't understand," she mutters to herself. "You should be fully recovered by now." Then she straightens up. "No matter. What did she tell you?"

Sam wants to be confused but clarity is rushing through his system, filling every nerve ending and synapse. The memory of Mia is strong and in the back of his mind there's a mantra drumming on his brain, _page surgere rursum vivat, page surgere rursum vivat_. He knows what it means but he doesn't know what it _means_ and that's the cue for confusion to reign supreme again.

Alicia doesn't seem to pick up on any of this though, and for that Sam's grateful. She just gives a smile as bright as sunshine and pats his hand like she would a four-year-old's.

"Never mind," she chirrups. "Grandpa will be here soon. He'll know what to do." She bounces up from the bed and moves over to the window. For the first time Sam notices the sunset, a beautiful rosy glow to the sky, and he suddenly wants, needs, to be outside in the fresh air.

He struggles to push himself to a sitting position, and when he's there he decides to take a little rest. His stomach aches from the demands he's put on his abdominal muscles but he decides that's not important.

"Where's Dean?" he croaks, then clears his throat, slightly embarrassed by the way he sounds about seventy.

"Don't worry about him,"

_Don't worry about him._

Sam frowns and glares at the girl silhouetted in the window. He doesn't think she possesses the power to duplicate and throw her voice but he definitely heard that statement twice.

"What?" he queries.

"He's fine," Alicia reassures him with a false smile but in the back of his head he hears _Don't worry about Dean. He doesn't matter in all of this._

"I want to see him," Sam decides. He's the one holding all the cards here. If they want his cooperation, they'll play ball.

_No they won't, Sam. They've come too far to pander to your petty little demands__, and your brother? He's nothing to them. Or me. Or you anymore._

He's not imagining it, not this time. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts but it doesn't help. Mia's voice is getting stronger, louder, crushing his own thoughts and impulses and he knows he needs to fight it.

_You can't win, Sam, _Mia tells him. _You're part of this now. And this is so much more than you can ever imagine. You have no idea how powerful Berengar is. And you're the key, Sam. _

Sam shakes his head again. "No, I'm not," he hisses under his breath.

Alicia looks at him curiously but doesn't seem surprised to hear him talking to himself. Instead she nods and tilts her head to one side.

"You can hear her now, can't you?" she asks, although from her tone of voice it sounds as though she already knows the answer. "That's good. It means we can proceed."

Sam can hear Alicia talking but Mia just won't shut up. Words are running round his head unbidden, some in English, some in Latin, some running into each other so fast they don't make any sense at all. He clenches his fists and tries to scrub the voice out of his head via his ears. He feels like he's losing his mind and worse, losing control.

Alicia takes hold of his wrists and gently but firmly pulls his hands down. He can hear her vaguely over the droning in his head. "Don't do that Sam. Let it happen. This was meant to be," but he doesn't like it, doesn't listen, fights her hold on him.

He sometimes forgets how strong he is and Mia's influence is getting stronger. He can hear her clearly now and she's telling him how powerful he is, how much they're going to achieve together, how Alicia is getting in the way.

And before he knows it, he's pulled away from the girl's grip, twisting her hands brutally, and throws her away from him with far more force than he would ever use on an innocent girl.

_But she's not innocent, is she Sam? She thinks she's going to get the glory but we both know that can't happen, don't we? We won't allow it._

Alicia falls to the ground with a cry of pain but Sam can't bring himself to care. He's losing himself in Mia's spell and the consequences of his actions don't bother him. He looks at the girl on the ground and feels a sense of satisfaction.

But the moment doesn't last as the door to the room opens and Joshua enters, followed by his staff and suddenly Sam knows his time has come. Soon he'll truly be the Master of the Books.

SNSNSN

Her name is Hayley and she's worked for Bryant her entire adult life. Which, as far as she's concerned, is far too long.

Dean's learnt a lot about her in the last couple of hours. Ever since she found him a hairclip to get out of the cuffs suspending him from the ceiling. When he said that he and Sam could help her, he didn't really realize just what he was offering.

Hayley's only here for one reason. Her son, Owen. Dean's learnt how Joshua employed her when she was just a young girl, pregnant, disowned by the father and her family. Took her in and gave her work. Then, when the boy was born, took him from her and told her she could leave whenever she wanted but Owen was his now. Forever.

Owen's seven now and Hayley last saw him properly three years ago. Now, she catches glimpses of him through half open doors, out of windows and sometimes he sees her but he doesn't really know who she is any more.

Which is why, Dean supposes, she leapt at his offer of help. Family means everything and Dean can relate to that.

The cuffs were a piece of cake to get out of once he had the hairclip and he ignored Hayley's look of incredulity and, if he's honest, a slight hint of panic, as if she was considering whether she'd done the right thing. Once he'd managed to reassure her, he pumped her for information. He reckons he could find any room in the house now, in the dark.

Or at least that's what he keeps telling himself as he hovers by the butlers sink, watching the maid slip out of the kitchen door into the herb garden. And seriously? Who the hell has a herb garden these days? And a thyme maze? Dean wonders how many of the plants are for medicinal or culinary purposes and how many have other, more sinister uses.

As soon as he loses sight of Hayley, Dean takes the time to scope out the kitchen. Or, more precisely, the kitchen utensils. Joshua may be many things, he muses, but stupid isn't one of them. His weapons are probably long gone – assigned to some goon or other. And doesn't that just make him want to smack someone upside the head? The thought of his armory in someone else's hands.

He shakes his head. There's no time for thoughts like that. _Focus, Dean, focus, _he tells himself.

He needs a plan. A good one. One that will get Sammy back to him, stop Joshua raising any warlocks and get Owen back to his mother, where he belongs.

Hayley's given him a quick, cursory tour of the house but Joshua has too many accomplices for them to have been able to get upstairs, to where Sam is. But it doesn't matter. She managed to describe it easily enough and despite the façade Dean puts out there, he's got a fast mind and the description is carved into his brain as though he designed the house himself.

Sam's room is at the end of the hallway and Dean knows there'll be guards. He's hoping they won't be too attentive – after all, they think he's hanging from the ceiling in the cellar still. He hopes.

He wonders briefly if they've discovered his absence yet and decides it's too quiet for that to have happened. He's sure all hell will break loose when his escape is noticed.

He realizes he's let his mind drift when his hand brushes against something cold and hard. Letting his eyes fall down, he spots the knife nestling in the bottom of the drawer he's pulled open. It gleams and sparkles so much Dean wonders if it's ever been used.

He curls his fingers round the handle and lifts it out, feeling the weight of it, admiring the intricate workmanship on the blade and wondering who needs such fancy carving knives. But he decides not to worry about that too much and just be grateful for its existence.

Slipping it into the back of his belt, he stands still for a moment, listening for any movement in the house. There's nothing. The air hangs heavy and still and Dean has to repress a shudder. The total silence? It's just not natural.

He makes his way cautiously to the doorway with a speed and skill that would make Dad proud, and he's at the foot of the main staircase without being noticed or challenged.

He's about to make his way up when he hears voices and freezes.

"I knew you'd come around, Sam. It was always meant to be." Bryant's voice floats down to the ground floor, followed by footsteps.

Dean looks round, frantically trying to find somewhere to hide. He's torn between standing his ground and physically ripping Sammy from their grasp and doing things right. He can almost hear his brother telling him not to be rash and he knows in his heart he's right.

He slips through the nearest door, finding himself in a washroom. It's not the most auspicious hiding place in the world but it does the job. He leans forward, straining to hear what else is said.

"It won't be long now," Joshua is saying. "The ceremony itself will be at midnight which will give us – you – time to adjust to your new position."

"I don't need time," Sam replies and Dean frowns, trying to recognize his brother in that tone of voice. He sounds cold and distant. There's no warmth, no humor, no emotion, not even fear, and Dean knows he's running out of time.

"Of course you don't," Joshua smarms "but it might be better for Alicia…"

"Alicia isn't part of this, old man," Sam declares and now there's a hint of something in his voice. Something Joshua clearly doesn't recognize but Dean does. Danger.

"If you say so," Joshua continues, seemingly oblivious to the tone the conversation has taken, and Dean finds himself wondering who he's going to have to save from whom.

He ducks back against the wall of the washroom, watching through a crack as Sam and Joshua pass by, heading for the front door, followed by three of Joshua's staff. Dean doesn't recognize any of them and he wonders how many people are in this damn house. He thinks maybe he should have asked more questions of the Turners but it's too late now.

He leans back and takes a deep breath as the voices fade into the distance, only to freeze when the door swings open slowly. He drops immediately into a fighting stance and whirls to face the intruder, hands up, feet apart for balance.

"What's up, Dean?" Sam asks with a broad grin on his face and Dean can't mask the confusion on his own face.

SNSNSN

Sam knew Dean was hiding behind door the second he got to the top of the staircase. He doesn't know how he knew, just that he did. And he thinks he should be overjoyed that his brother is free, safe, relatively unharmed. But he's not. It's just one of those things he's come to expect from Dean.

That, and Mia's voice nagging him about how worthless his brother is and why it's really not a good idea to let him wander around, how he could scupper all their plans, how she never should have let him live this long anyway.

He fights her as much as he can, but looking at Dean with that stupid look on his face he finds he's losing the will to disagree with her. Which he knows is wrong.

He waits patiently for Dean to string a sentence together. Hell, even two words would do at this point but it's like watching paint dry, he thinks. Finally Dean shakes his head, just a little.

"Sam?" he stutters. "What…"

"What am I doing here?" Sam interrupts, finishing the question while he steps into the room, forcing Dean to move aside. He pulls the door shut behind him. "I came to find you, Dean," he explains.

"Find me?"

"Yes." He pauses and looks around the small room they're in. "Seriously, Dean?" he mocks. "A bathroom? This was the best place you could find to hide?"

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean demands and he straightens up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam thinks they should be getting the hell out of there but he's strangely compelled to see this through now. It's like a train heading out of the station with no brakes. He has no choice but to keep going till he hits the buffers at the end of the line.

"Look at me, Sammy," Dean requests softly. Sam recognizes his older brother's concerned voice and smiles at him.

"I'm fine, Dean," he asserts even as Mia rages in the back of his mind. He wants to bang his head against the wall to shut her up, cause her as much pain and suffering as possible. "I just have a little…company," and he brushes his hand meaningfully through his hair.

He watches as the confusion fights with concern all over his brother's features, unsurprised when concern triumphs and suddenly Dean's a picture of efficiency and purpose.

"What sort of company?" he demands.

Sam wonders how to answer that question without freaking his brother out too much. It's too much to ask of Dean to take this calmly; after all, the girl trampled all over his heart and tried to kill him.

"Sam?" Dean prompts and Sam realizes he's fallen into silence and there's no way to soften the blow.

"Mia," he states, watching Dean carefully for the reaction he's expecting.

But Dean surprises him. He doesn't pale, doesn't fall back in shock, doesn't try to take Sam down where he stands on principle. He just looks at Sam and cocks his head to one side, raising a single eyebrow in query.

"Mia? As in Mia Cameron?"

Sam just nods, not really knowing what else he should be doing.

Dean turns away from him, scrubbing a hand over his face. Sam watches as his shoulders stiffen and then relax. He watches as his brother reaches into his pocket.

_Here it comes, Sam,_ Mia taunts. _Any minute now he's going to shoot you because he hates me more than he loves you. How does that make you feel?_

"Shut up," he hisses under his breath.

_Take him out, Sam. Do it now. Before he can do it to you._

"Stop it."

"Who you talking to, Sammy?" Dean asks, slowly turning round and yep, there it is. The knife in his hand, just like Mia said.

Sam tenses and raises his hands protectively.

"Dean," he pleads. "Don't."

"Is she here?"

"I told you, Dean," Sam explains. "She's in my head."

"How can that be, Sammy? She's dead, remember?"

"I don't know," Sam admits. He's been asking himself the very same question since he came to his senses. He still doesn't have an answer for himself that sounds even remotely plausible, so how Dean expects him to come up with a full explanation he just can't fathom. "She was just there, in my head, when Joshua gave me that drink."

"Yeah, about that drink," Dean wonders. "What was it? How can a drink bring back some skanky half demon bitch?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam repeats. "I don't think she's back, back. But she's in my head. Maybe she's been there ever since…" and he trails off as the realization hits him.

Dean's silent.

_That's because he has nothing to say, Sam. Look at his little brain going ten to the dozen. There'll be smoke comin' out his ears soon._

Sam ignores the mocking voice, the sneer echoing round his skull. He's working out how this could happen and it's like a revelation. He doesn't like it, but he thinks he knows now how Mia got there.

Dean watches his little brother struggle with his thoughts and wonders just how long Mia has been on board. He's pretty sure it's something to do with Joshua – just one more reason to gank him, regardless of any "but he's human" protests Sam might come up with.

Sam looks confused and a little lost but Dean thinks he can put up with that so long as they're together. He doesn't really question why Sam is here, alone and apparently safe. In his confused relief all he wants to do now is honor his promise to Hayley and get out of this godforsaken place.

He looks down at the knife in his hand and sheepishly lets his hand drop to his side, deciding that threatening Sam isn't really going to help. He'll worry about Mia once they're out of here.

"C'mon, Sam," he says. "We need to move."

Sam nods slowly. "What about the books?" he asks and Dean feels a twitch of apprehension. It's not that he'd forgotten about the books per se. It's more that Sam's the one who's brought them up. And the look on his face when he mentioned them. Almost wistful, as though Dean was taking away his candy at Christmas by denying him the books.

"What about them?" Dean counters, praying Sam will let it go. As far as he's concerned, the books are impotent without the Master. And seeing as that appears to be Sam, the further away they are the better. He can always send Bobby back here later. Or come himself.

But watching Sam straighten up, he's not so sure that's an option at the moment.

"We need the books," Sam reaffirms.

"Why?" Dean pushes. "Let's just leave them here and get going." He's getting nervous now. Sam's not quite right in the head. Maybe that's not the best way to put it but, hell, he's said so himself. He's got company in there and that's enough to cloud anyone's judgment.

But Sam stiffens and shakes his head. "Can't do that, Dean. We _have_ to get the books."

"No, Sam. We don't. What we _need_ to do is get out of here."

Dean could be talking to a brick wall for all the effect his words are having on Sam. As he looks closely at his brother, really closely, Dean notices Sam's eyes are unfocussed and his muscles are held so taught it must be hurting.

Dean's apprehension ratchets up a notch to full blown worry and he decides they've prevaricated long enough. Joshua will be looking for Sam by now and then Dean understands where this apprehension has come from.

Joshua.

Last Dean looked, Sam had been merrily chatting to Joshua and his cronies. Next second he was in here with him. He peers at his brother through narrowed eyes.

"Sam," he starts. "Where's Joshua? How did you give him the slip?"

He waits for the answer, painfully aware of every second ticking past them, eyes flicking between his brother and the door, which he half expects to come crashing open any minute. Sam's not moving though and Dean doesn't like this inactivity. He dislikes the lack of response from Sam even more.

But what he really hates is the thought that's moved in and set up home in the corner of his mind. The one that's querying how sane Sam really is right now. How much control he really has over his own thoughts. As it settles down on the La-Z-Boy of Dean's imagination it asks who's really asking about the books – Sam or Mia?

Sam seems to be miles away and Dean hopes he's not having a conversation only he can hear, but he thinks that's the most likely explanation because Sam starts visibly when Dean nudges him with his foot.

"Joshua's outside," he tells Dean as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "He's waiting for me."

"Does he know I'm here?"

"No. I don't think so," Sam decides after another moment's pause.

"Then let's go," Dean presses, moving forward till he's level with Sam.

The next few minutes don't really go the way the older hunter had planned. He should know better really than to turn his back on a not-quite-all-there Sam.

But he does it anyway, opening the door a crack, just wide enough to see if anyone is waiting for Sam out there with less than honorable intentions. The hallway is deserted though and just as Dean allows a tentative smile to creep onto his face, he feels a large hand on his back and he's stumbling over the threshold like a toddler who's just discovered his feet.

Regaining his balance, he whirls round to face his assailant – and isn't that just a dandy of a word to describe his slightly off kilter brother?

Sam is just standing there though, looking at his hand as if he's never seen it before. He raises his head to catch Dean's eye and his mouth opens and closes rapidly. Dean thinks he's probably trying to say something but it's not quite fully formed yet. Dean thinks his brother looks remarkably like a fish out of water.

"What the hell was that, Sam?" he demands, fists curling subconsciously by his side.

"I…I don't know," his brother whispers, blinking rapidly. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Was it Mia?"

Sam chews on his lower lip for a second before deciding, "It must have been."

"How, Sam?" Dean hisses.

But before Sam gets the chance to answer there's another voice and the unmistakable pressure of a gun barrel digging into the base of his spine.

"Because we helped Sam to remember," Joshua states calmly, stepping round his flunky, holding his arm out to Sam. "Because this is his purpose, Mr. Winchester, and you are simply getting in the way."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Between the Lines  
**Author**: JenF**  
****Chapter:** 4 of 4  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Winchester family, their property, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.  
**A/N:** This story originally appeared as part of the Supernatural Virtual Season. Although most of the characters are original, there is an appearance by a VS character who isn't mine. If you know the VS, you'll know who I mean when we get there.

* * *

Joshua smiles as he surveys the scene in front of him. He's worked hard for this moment and he's damned if he's going to let it slip through his fingers now. Sam Winchester is exactly what he'd expected but he comes with a brother – a brother who Joshua would quite happily dispose of here and now, except for the fact Sam seems to depend on him and Joshua thinks this might come in handy if Mia's influence doesn't last.

Dean, on the other hand, grimaces as he surveys the same scene. No matter how often it happens, and it happens far too often for his liking, he will never get used to the sight of his little brother sandwiched between two goons. He'll never get used to the blank look in his eyes and he'll never get used to the feeling of guilt even when he knows there's nothing he would have done differently this time.

And doesn't that just suck? Knowing his libido blinded him to Sam's plight. Yes, he knows the argument Sam would be throwing at him right now if he could talk. He knows Sam won't let him accept all the responsibility for this one but with Dean, it's an inbuilt thing. With age comes responsibility and this situation? It's all his fault for getting sidetracked by one hell of a redhead.

As for Sam? He's smack in the middle of this scene. Somewhere in the back of his head, the bit that's still all his, the bit Mia hasn't managed to infiltrate, he knows the next half hour is going to be messy in so many different ways. He wonders if there's anything he can do about it but considering the size of the hands holding his biceps gently enough not to bruise but firmly enough to discourage any attempt at escape, he thinks he's best off biding his time.

He shakes his head just enough to dislodge his hair from his forehead, affording him the opportunity to take stock of the situation. He can see Alicia standing by some sort of altar Joshua seems to have erected in the last few hours. She's quiet and there's an aura of expectation around her. Sam wonders if anyone else can sense it. She's looking earnestly at him and his heart falters as their eyes meet and Sam's sure she's just winked at him. What the hell's that about?

If he tilts his head slightly he can just see Dean in his peripheral vision. Seems the old man isn't taking any more chances where the older hunter is concerned. Sam's seen mummies with less bindings on them than Dean right now. Joshua has had his brother hogtied and strapped to a stone pillar, a thick fabric gag in his mouth and Sam worries if his brother can breathe alright. He's still the right color so it's probably a safe bet Dean's physically okay at the moment although Sam wouldn't like to vouch for his mental state.

He racks his brain for a plan, any plan, to get them out of this but just as he accepts they're up the creek without a paddle, Joshua steps forward and suddenly Mia's back, crooning in Sam's head, irritating the hell out of him and slowly crushing his own thoughts.

"It's time," the old man states, plain and simple. Sam finds himself nodding and moving forward and somewhere he still has the autonomy to marvel at how the body can be so independent of the mind.

_It's time, Sam, _Mia whispers, her voice silken, oozing through his head like honey and Sam knows wherever she is, she's smiling. He also knows he should be fighting this, fighting her. He knows Dean's helpless and that he needs to help his brother. Because sooner or later he thinks he's going to need Dean to help him.

Alicia has moved forward and Sam starts to feel her hand on his arm. He snaps his head round to look at her but she's facing forwards, eyes fixed on the altar, on the book laid open there. The hunter tries to pull his arm away from her but her fingers tighten round his sleeve and he feels the now familiar warmth seeping from her hand through his skin and for a brief second it burns.

But then Mia's there again and for the first time he's vaguely grateful she is. He doesn't know what she does but Alicia flinches slightly and loosens her grip, although she doesn't release Sam completely.

She turns to look up at him and Sam registers that brilliant blue in her eyes, the shade she's shown him once before, in the barn.

"Don't do that, Sam," she tells him, no emotion in her voice. "It's not the way of the Book Keepers to harm each other."

Sam shakes his head. "I didn't do anything," he argues.

_No, _Mia chips in. _But I did. And I'll do it again if that jumped up little bitch tries anything else._

That stops Sam in his tracks. Mia, looking out for him? That's a first. He wonders whether he should be feeling quite so good about it, but before he's even finished the thought he's repulsed by the implication. Mia's hold on him is leeching out of his skin now. She's not just in his head, controlling his actions, she's fighting free of the confines of his body.

And that's something he just can't allow.

_Yes you can, Sam,_ she intones. _In fact, you have no choice in the matter, _and whatever it was she did to Alicia, she does again.

This time the girl snatches her hand away from Sam and spins to face him. Her eyes are sparking and Sam takes an involuntary step back from her, straight into the chest of one of his captors.

"I told you not to do that," she repeats but this time the emotion is there. Sam can hear hints of fury and frustration and, interestingly, fear, mingling in her voice. "It's unbecoming and not acceptable for those of us with the gift to harm one another," she asserts.

Joshua steps forward, forehead creased in thought. He stops to the side of Dean and clears his throat as though he's about to make an after dinner speech.

"Is there a problem, my dear?" he enquires, watching Sam calmly.

"I don't believe Sam has quite grasped the etiquette involved here yet," Alicia mutters, and it's the most unladylike Sam has seen her.

Joshua sighs and turns to Sam. "I really must insist the correct procedures are followed," he tells the hunter. "You must surely understand the importance of what's about to happen here?" He stops and turns to Dean with a solemn look on his face. "I think your brother would really appreciate you adhering to the ways."

Sam's blood runs cold. He doesn't like the way Joshua is studying his brother and he's not sure, but Dean's not looking too happy about this turn of events either.

Joshua raises a hand and rests it on the older hunter's shoulder and leans in to him. He puts his head close to Dean's and whispers something into his ear. Sam can't hear what's being said but he can read his brother like a book. He sees the flash of fury in his eyes, the way Dean stiffens and pulls against the restraints holding him to the pillar and he can imagine the thoughts running through his brother's head.

Joshua pats Dean patronizingly twice on the shoulder and steps back slightly, just enough for Sam to spot the glint of a silver blade in the old man's hand. "Dean and I have an understanding," Sam is told. "I think it would be best not to have to follow through on that." Joshua nods thoughtfully. "Not for my own sake, you understand," he clarifies. "But for Dean's sake."

"We're wasting time, Grandpa," Alicia pipes up, a hint of irritability creeping into her voice.

_We're wasting time, _Mia mimics and Sam suppresses the desire to slap her, figuratively speaking. But clearly Mia can now hear all his thoughts and her laughter echoes round his head. _Oh Sammy,_ she giggles, _you can't hurt me. I thought we'd got past that. If you want to hurt someone, try Little Miss Perfect over there. Or your brother. Whoever. Your choice._

Joshua seems to agree with his granddaughter and he steps away from Dean, casting a warning look back to the hunter. "You're right, my dear," he agrees with a smile. "It's past time really. We should gather the Keepers."

Sam watches as Joshua nods to someone behind him and he feels a swish of air from movement behind him. He takes advantage of the activity to study his brother, willing Dean to meet his eye.

But Dean is distracted by something Sam can't see and it's all the younger hunter can do not to turn around to find out what has his brother so captivated.

When Joshua leans in to Dean's personal space the hunter is irrationally grateful for the ropes and twine holding him in place, preventing him from letting loose what would probably be the most foolhardy attack ever. He can't stop the flinch when hot breath caresses the side of his face and Joshua's deceptively gentle voice floats into his ear.

"Your brother is going to get you killed," he whispers and Dean can feel the smile on the older man's lips. "And when that happens, I'm going to savor every moment. Then I'm going to do the same thing to him."

Dean catches a flash of steel beneath Joshua's pristine jacket and renews his fruitless efforts to get free. He ignores the silent, mocking laughter and the fatherly gesture of hand on shoulder.

And then Alicia breaks up the party, clearly keen to get on with the ritual, ceremony, whatever the hell it is they're doing here.

He watches the action keenly as Joshua nods to the goons behind Sam. He's painfully aware of his brother trying to make eye contact with him, but there's something going on behind that door and Dean's convinced himself Sam can take care of himself for a few more minutes, so he watches the procession of assorted characters entering through the doorway.

There are six hooded figures and if Dean wasn't so completely incapacitated he would find the whole charade clichéd to the hilt. They look like monks, he decides, with their cowl hoods hiding their faces, and from the build and gait of each one Dean deduces they're all male, all physically fit with the exception of the first one who seems to command some position of respect.

They move forward as one, halting briefly in front of Alicia to pass her an ancient tome, wordlessly accepting her nod of thanks before moving to the far side of the altar.

The girl, for her part, receives the books with an eagerness that Dean finds disturbing on many levels. But, he thinks, at least she seems to have forgotten Sam for the time being. He watches as she lovingly runs her long fingers over the cover of each volume before placing them reverentially on the altar.

Then Dean spots someone else and he curses the Winchester luck as Hayley stumbles into the room looking a little worse for wear but not overly hurt. He stiffens as she manages what Sam didn't – she makes eye contact with Dean.

Joshua laughs aloud, startling Dean, who had almost forgotten he was there.

"The lovely Hayley," he states, moving forward, raising a hand to the maid. "Please, join us. Tonight is a night that will go down in history, my dear. I would hate for you to miss it. After all, you have already played such a pivotal role here this evening," and he casts a telling glance in Dean's direction, which lets the hunter know Joshua is fully aware of how he managed to shake off the shackles last time.

"Grandpa?" Alicia asks quietly, and her confusion is almost tangible. "What's she doing here? She's not a Keeper."

Dean sees Sam try to move forward, protection instincts kicking in, and he shakes his head at his little brother, silently begging him to keep out of it. He doesn't think Hayley's in any immediate danger – Joshua's too shrewd for that. If Dean had to make an educated guess, he'd say the old man is going to use her as insurance.

Seems Joshua likes insurance policies, Dean muses. He's clearly there to keep Sam in line and it would appear Hayley is there to keep _him_ in line.

Joshua, meanwhile, is smiling as he lets one slender arm drop round the maid's shoulders in a parody of parental concern. "Hayley is our guest, Alicia," he informs his granddaughter. "It seems she has a part to play here too," and he glances back at Dean once more.

Dean studiously ignores him and looks to Hayley, trying to offer reassurance and comfort, although it's difficult in his current condition. He thinks she understands his sentiments when she shrugs, almost apologetically, and offers the older hunter a sad smile.

"Turns out," she murmurs, "you can't help me, after all."

Dean feels like a knife has twisted in his gut with every word she speaks. She doesn't sound bitter or resentful. Just resigned, as though she has her lot in life and she's realized now that nothing is ever going to change. Dean glares at Joshua and wonders what the man has done with her son.

But Joshua has lost interest in Hayley, and Dean. He's moved over to Alicia, and Dean feels his muscles tightening in anticipation of – what? He watches as Alicia turns back to the altar and opens each book with painstaking care. She arranges them in a six pointed star and then bows her head down.

Joshua nods in satisfaction then beckons each of the six Keepers forward. Taking hold of a silver chalice from the altar he offers each man a sip of whatever is in the cup. Judging from the looks on their faces, Dean guesses it's not beer. He notes with interest that neither the old man, nor his granddaughter, partake of the beverage.

He looks to Sam but his brother is enthralled by the proceedings and doesn't spare a second look to Dean. Dean worries about this, wondering who is in control of Sam right now – his brother, or Mia?

But he can't spend long turning over that particular dilemma as Joshua lifts the chalice high in the air and steps towards his brother. He watches in horror as for the second time in one day Sam is forced to his knees, silver chalice raised to his unprotesting lips.

Dean yells out from behind his gag, threats to the Keepers, entreaties to his brother, inanities to Hayley. But all that comes out are unintelligible, muffled grunts and groans.

"Hush, Dean," Joshua berates him gently, not taking his eyes off Sam. "You're disturbing the karma."

"Grandpa," Alicia interrupts. "Time is pressing," and she holds out a stiletto which gleams in the dimness of the cellar. Dean thinks it's gold but knows that it's probably bronze, maybe brass. Either way, he doesn't like the look of it, or the way it's being offered to Joshua. It reminds Dean too much of a sacrificial lamb.

Joshua lets the chalice fall away from Sam's mouth and Dean can't see whether he's drunk anything or not. Sam's lips look dry from here and he clutches at straws where he can find them.

"You're right, my dear," Joshua agrees. "You do it. This is your destiny too," and he steps back, allowing Alicia free access to Sam, the stiletto sparkling in her hand.

_Seems like you've been here before, Sammy,_ Mia muses somewhere in the back of Sam's head. _Are you going to just sit here and take it again? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I'm getting pissed with her. She's nothing, Sam. Nothing. Take her down. Take her down now._

Sam shakes his head, tries to clear his mind, but in some unfathomable way he kind of agrees with his passenger. Alicia is getting to be annoying and no, he's not going to just sit back and take it again. After all, look what happened last time. One sip and he's merged with a half-breed demon who just won't shut the hell up.

_That's not nice, Sammy. Not after I've been so good to you. Don't forget I'm here to stay and if you want to carry on with this timeshare we seem to have developed then I suggest you play ball with me, Winchester._

"Don't get too cozy," Sam mutters under his breath, quiet enough not to be heard by Alicia or Joshua. "You're not staying there."

_Oh, but I think I am,_ Mia retorts and giggles. _What d'you say we do something about this little charade? I'm thinking she's the problem. I'm thinking we should deal with her first. What do you think, Sammy?_

Sam looks up at Alicia who is holding the stiletto gingerly in her neat hands. He wonders if she's ever handled a weapon before and watches, mesmerized, as her fingers trace the blade from root to sharp, shiny tip. He blinks as the knife draws blood from her thumb and then gazes, virtually hypnotized as she puts her thumb in her mouth, sucking it clean before withdrawing it seductively.

_Winchester! _Mia snaps, breaking the reverie Sam finds himself in.

Sam drops his eyes from the young woman in front of him and studies the feet around the altar, twelve feet of six men. The Keepers.

Feet don't talk, he thinks, but at least he knows where they all stand. And, he notes, none of them is wearing anything approaching heavy work boots. Any kicking to be done isn't likely to be fatal. Irritating, yes. Painful, probably. But fatal? Not so likely.

Startled out of his thoughts by a delicate hand under his chin, he feels his head being lifted until he can't help but meet Alicia's eyes. He's surprised to find her softened somehow, her eyes almost unfocussed but not enough to decide she's harmless. She still has that stiletto, after all.

"I'm sorry about this, Sam," she tells him gently. "But it has to be done this way. The Books are very specific."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Sam retorts, sarcastically and then wonders where that came from.

But she doesn't seem to have taken offence, just smiles at him sadly and removes her hand from his jaw. She draws her hand back, the one holding the dagger, and closes her eyes.

From behind her, the Keepers start to hum and it's one of the most disturbing noises the young hunter has ever heard. There doesn't seem to be a tune as such and no discernible words but every man is making the same noise, the same tone, the same volume at the same time. Alicia is swaying in time to the humming and the sound crescendos until Sam thinks it's going to drive him mad.

He chances a look at Dean. He doesn't really know what he hopes to achieve by it, maybe the reassurance that only an older brother can give. But when he turns his head, Dean's not looking at him and he feels an inexplicable sense of loss deep in his gut.

_That's because he doesn't care,_ Mia taunts. _And we don't have time for him now anyway. If you hadn't noticed, hunter boy, you're about to become more than entertainment here. You're about to be the sacrificial lamb._ She pauses in her diatribe and Sam finds himself nodding. _If I were you, I'd tell her she's got it all wrong._

"This is wrong," Sam repeats aloud. "You're doing it all wrong," and suddenly he knows Mia is right. This ritual Alicia and the Keepers are trying to complete, they're doing it all wrong and whilst nothing is going to happen to the Books if they continue, Sam may not get out of this alive.

Joshua frowns. "No," he states calmly. "_You're_ wrong. This is what we must do. What we have been destined to do, for centuries."

Sam shakes his head and now, finally, he can feel Dean's eyes on him. He can almost reach out and touch the confusion rolling off his brother. He wishes he could have Dean by his side but right now he'll just have to take what he can get.

"No," he repeats, returning his attention to Joshua. "The Books are wrong. They always have been. It's a defense mechanism." He pauses. "I'm the Master," he states coldly, daring Joshua or Alicia to argue with him, and he's relieved to see doubt creeping into the old man's face. He presses home his advantage. "If you spill my blood," he hisses, barely recognizing himself, "the Books will burn and you will never see daylight again."

He drops back on his heels, feels Dean's frown boring into him, but he dare not look to his brother. He doesn't know why he's just said what he has. It's true, he knows that, but he can't explain how he knows. Mia is clapping silently around his head and he can feel her dancing a celebratory jig as Alicia looks to her grandfather hesitantly.

"Grandpa?" she queries, and drops the stiletto down by her side, tantalizingly close to Sam.

Once, Sam would have rather died than hurt a woman, but now? He's seen too much, heard too much, done too much for it to have quite the same implications for him anymore. Even without his little demonic passenger he knows he can't let Alicia hang on to the stiletto. She may be having doubts, but he knows from hard earned experience that a person with half a plan is far more dangerous than the person with every step mapped out in triplicate.

Her hand is swaying slightly and Sam knows this is his chance, probably his only chance. Alicia and Joshua seem to be trying to work out what to do next and the Keepers are still humming, seemingly unaware of the events unfolding in front of them.

Sam chances a look at Dean and offers his helpless brother a ghost of a smile. He hopes it's enough to convey his intentions. It certainly used to be, but then Sam didn't used to have Mia onboard. He wouldn't blame Dean if he doesn't fall into line straight away but he hopes his brother's survival instincts will kick in regardless.

He sees Dean's eyes flick over the assembled crowd before settling back on Sam, and Sam nods slightly. He can hear Mia cackling in the back of his head where she's settled down to watch the show and he tries not to let her distract him.

Sam's hand darts out and he surprises himself with the speed he latches onto her wrist. She gasps and whether it's in shock or pain Sam neither knows nor cares. Mia is jumping up and down like an excited school girl, clapping her hands in glee. Sam feels the delicate bones in Alicia's wrist grind together and the girl lets out a cry of distress, fingers uncurling from the handle of the dagger, letting it fall harmlessly to the floor.

Joshua catches on quickly. Sam has to give the old guy some credit. His mental faculties are all there. As are his reactions. He lunges forwards and downwards, reaching out for the knife, but before he's even halfway there, Sam has pulled the girl to him, wrapping his arm round her throat and wielding her like a shield.

"I wouldn't," he warns the old man and Joshua freezes. He may be many things and he may have no morals that Sam's found yet, but it seems he does have a weak spot – his granddaughter. Sam laughs at the irony. Joshua's weak spot is his family and can't Sam just relate to that? Even as he can hear Dean's frantic protests through his gag.

The humming falters briefly. _At last,_ Mia intones from her cozy corner of Sam's head. _I have to say they were beginning to drive me a little bit mad._ Sam finds himself agreeing with her but he's got more important things to worry about at the moment.

Like how to get Dean free.

Like how to get Mia out of his head. Forever.

Dean can't quite believe his eyes as Sam wraps that broad, muscular forearm of his round Alicia's throat. He thinks, hopes, it's Mia's influence because the little brother he knows would never do something like this. Yet there he is, pulling the girl around like a piece of meat and not a shred of remorse showing in his face.

Dean doesn't like this version of his brother, and while he struggles fruitlessly against the ropes restraining him, he tries to make eye contact with Sam, tries to see something there to give him hope. In his head he's running through every exorcism ritual he can think of to expel Mia.

He hears the humming falter and grind to a halt. Joshua, Alicia and Sam seem to be in their own little world at the moment and it doesn't look like Sam is going to give him any help and Dean realizes he's going to have to look elsewhere for succor.

He's in luck. In the frenzy of activity it seems Hayley has been forgotten. She's hovering to the side of the altar, just behind Joshua. Dean shakes his head frantically at her, desperately trying to attract her attention. It looks like she's riveted by the scenario playing out in front of her though and Dean's going to have to try something more effective than wobbling his head around.

He wiggles his feet, scuffing the floor and making about as much noise as a church mouse. But it doesn't matter. Hayley's looking at him now and in just a couple of heartbeats she seems to understand what Dean's trying to convey to her.

He watches, heart in mouth, as the maid sidles round the back of the old man, who is far too captivated by the Sam and Alicia Show to worry about a mere serving girl. Nobody is paying any attention to her. Or Dean. So she manages to reach his side unnoticed, although Dean can see she's scared. Which he can't blame her for.

"What do I do?" she whispers in his ear, keeping an eye on proceedings all the time.

Dean waggles his eyebrows at her, wondering how long it'll take her to realize he can't tell her anything with this damned gag in his mouth. She tilts her head in confusion and Dean starts to wonder how much of an ally she's going to be after all.

But then realization dawns in her eyes and she reaches up to his face, fingers prizing the gag away from his mouth, maneuvering the cloth from his lips till it's hanging harmlessly round his neck.

He inhales deeply, relishing his newfound freedom to unimpeded breathing, stifling a cough.

"You need to get me free," he rasps quietly.

Hayley looks worried and shakes her head. "How?" she wonders. "I can't untie these. They're too tight."

"Get a knife," Dean suggests, trying not to lose patience with her, all the while keeping a close watch on his brother's situation. Which seems to have reached some sort of impasse. Joshua's not moving but then neither is Sam. Dean doesn't know if he should be concerned about that or not.

"Where from?" Hayley's asking him and it occurs to Dean she's probably asked him a couple of times already.

On reflection, it's a good question. The only knife Dean can see is the stiletto Alicia dropped to the floor, but that's smack bang in the middle of Sam's little tableau and he's not going to suggest Hayley interrupts that. Just as he's about to despair, his own weapons long gone, Hayley shifts slightly to the side. Dean follows her with his eyes as she drops to a squat, arm reaching out behind her.

Dean's impressed by the way she doesn't seem to need to search out what she's aiming for, instead keeping her gaze firmly fixed on Sam and Joshua and Alicia. She's almost professional about it and Dean finds himself reassessing her yet again.

When she straightens up she's got a triumphant smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye. She moves back to Dean and turns her hand over, showing him the fragment of glass nestling in her palm.

"It's not perfect," she admits quietly, "but it might just do it."

Dean nods at her, encouragingly. "Do your best," he tells her, hoping she can get the ropes loose enough for him to break free.

He's watching the situation Sam's found himself in closely and the stalemate seems to be holding. He can't hear any words and neither Sam nor Joshua is moving. Dean's not sure what's more disconcerting – the silence or the stillness. He knows Sam, knows him better than anyone, but right now Sam's not in full control and that's what's worrying Dean. Mia's a bitch of the highest order and while Dean knows Sam in strong, he also knows what a manipulative skank she can be.

He flinches slightly as the glass Hayley's wielding slips off the rope and grazes his wrist. She mumbles an apology and carries on regardless. In a warped, Winchester type of way, Dean is grateful for the lubrication his blood is providing, oiling the movement of rope on flesh. He feels the tightness of his bindings give a little, then a little more, and if he weren't so distracted he'd be cheering the maid's efforts.

And, as he pulls his arms apart as far as he can, feeling the rope snapping one twine at a time, he thinks his impending freedom hasn't come a moment too soon as he watches Sam, dread invading his blood like ice as his brother finally makes a move.

_I'm bored, Sam,_ Mia moans. _Stop playing around and let's get this show on the road for real._

"Just shut the hell up," Sam hisses, ignoring the look he gets from the old man he's holding at arm's length. He reckons Joshua thinks he's losing the plot, hopes the old man is beginning to reconsider his plans, but the rational man inside him knows crazed megalomaniacs rarely back down.

_If you'd pull your finger outta your ass, I wouldn't have to,_ Mia retorts, contempt spilling from her in every syllable. _She's a slip of a girl and he's a decrepit old man. Or have you lost your touch, Sammy? You just gonna stand here and let them walk all over you? 'Cause, I gotta tell you, I'm disappointed in you._

"Like I give a rat's ass," Sam retorts, a little louder than he'd intended. But right now? Who cares?

Joshua moves forward slightly. A lesser man might not have noticed, but Sam's been trained to spot the missable for as long as he can remember. He tightens his grip on Alicia and she stumbles. Not much, but enough to stop the old man in his tracks.

"I wouldn't try anything," Sam warns him. "I'm not in the mood for playing games anymore." Even as he says it he wonders when he began thinking of this as a game.

_It's always been a game,_ Mia laughs. _If you can't see that, then I think it's time you sit back and let me run the show._

Sam laughs, a bitter, hollow laugh. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he snarks, ignoring the looks from not only Joshua, but the Keepers, who seem to have woken up to the fact things aren't going as planned. He ignores the way the girl in his arms tries to pull away and simply holds her a little firmer.

"Sam," she pleads. "Think about what you're doing here. The ritual…"

"The ritual is nothing," he interrupts, not caring what she's about to say. It's all a load of garbage anyway.

"But we have to finish it. If we don't finish it, we're all doomed."

Sam laughs, thinking how melodramatic her use of the word "doomed" is, how melodramatic this whole debacle has been.

"You might be doomed," he tells her, "but I've got more important things to do than be doomed by your warped sense of destiny."

He can almost feel Dean's approval and it gives him the courage to continue. He relaxes his grip on Alicia's wrist and leans down till his mouth is almost touching her ear.

"It's not nice being in this position, is it?" he whispers before straightening up and thrusting her forward, straight into Joshua.

Unprepared for an armful of granddaughter, the old man stumbles back and loses his footing. Old man and young woman tumble to the floor, a tangle of limbs and curses most unbecoming for the sort of company they have spent hours trying to pretend they're in.

From the corner of his eye, Sam can see Hayley frantically working at Dean's bonds and he's relieved his brother isn't on his own. He registers the movements of the older hunter's arms and shoulders and knows, from experience, his brother is on the verge of freedom.

Which is no bad thing because it turns out the Keepers aren't as passive as he was hoping. As one they're moving forward and Sam thinks he can take three, maybe four of them by himself but six? That's just ridiculous.

He seizes the opportunity to lunge forward and grab the stiletto lying harmlessly on the floor. Ever the hunter, he feels strengthened by the mere possession of a weapon. In the back of his head Mia is hopping from foot to foot in excitement, urging Sam on, virtually begging him to _end the bitch, put her out of her misery_.

Joshua is rising now, rolling Alicia off himself. He's on his knees before Sam and doesn't that just take the cake? Talk about a reversal of roles.

"You shouldn't have done that," he coldly tells Sam, apparently oblivious to his inferior position in this exchange. "Your brother won't thank you for it."

"Actually," Dean smiles from his position just behind the old man, "his brother thinks it's the best thing he's done today. Good move, Sammy."

With a swiftness and skill ingrained in him over the years, Dean flips the old man on his back, hand darting into his jacket and extricating a steel blade.

And finally Sam allows himself to relax, just slightly, before turning his own attention to the Keepers.

Dean's surprised by the strength he feels in the old man as he takes him down. As he grabs for the knife he spotted earlier, Joshua puts up more of a fight than Dean was expecting and while he still has the upper hand and he's made it look effortless, the effects of having spent most of the day bound up or hung up somewhere are showing.

Joshua obviously seems to think so too. He may be on the floor but he's leering up at Dean in a way that makes the hunter uncomfortable in oh so many ways. But really Dean shouldn't be worrying about Joshua's facial expressions. What he should be looking for, he thinks later, is the gnarled old hand that snakes to his ankle, wrapping round it with an iron grip and pulling him to the floor with a crash.

Dean curses and scrambles backwards, his hold on the blade as firm as ever. But Joshua's on his feet faster than Dean would give him credit for and with one swift kick the blade goes skidding out of his numbed fingers as his elbow seizes up from the impact with Joshua's elegantly booted foot. He can't help a gasp of pain as he rolls to the side, hoping to reclaim his advantage.

Somewhere, sometime, Joshua must have had some sort of training, Dean muses. Military, martial arts, whatever. It's paying off for the old guy now as he throws himself at the younger man, forcing Dean onto his back, landing two swift punches to the hunter's abdomen

Dean tries to curl in on himself but Joshua's kneeling over him, pinning him to the ground. As the old man's face comes into Dean's line of vision, he's smiling.

"I told you your brother was going to kill you," he smirks. "I just didn't think I'd enjoy it quite this much. It's been a long time since I've killed a man, Dean, but I guess it's a skill you never forget."

Dean sighs as best he can before pulling an arm back and letting it fly into the old man's face, wincing as his knuckles connect with an aged cheekbone. It does the trick though. Joshua loosens his grip on Dean as his head flies backward.

Dean flings an arm out, trying once again to get to the blade, vaguely aware of some sort of scuffle going on in the background, probably involving Sam, and he thinks he really needs to get rid of Joshua so he can go help his little brother.

Just as his fingertips brush the handle of the steel blade, Joshua is on him again and this time he's armed. Dean doesn't know where the second blade has come from, he wonders vaguely if Joshua's jacket is like Mary Poppins' carpet bag. But it's not the most pressing issue Dean has right now as the old man swipes his own blade at Dean, cutting cleanly through the fabric of the hunter's jeans, grazing his calf enough to sting but not enough to penetrate the skin.

Dean makes one last desperate lunge for the knife by his hand, inexplicably happy when his fingers curl tightly round the handle. Kicking out at Joshua, he gains his feet, stumbling only slightly when the knife wound reminds him it's there. Spinning round to face his adversary, Dean can see Sam holding his own against the Keepers.

Pacing himself now, convinced he's back on a level playing field, he raises his eyes to Joshua.

"Not that easy, douchebag," he taunts, carelessly tossing the knife from hand to hand. "And you're right. You never do forget how to kill."

He manages to make it sound like a threat even though it's a statement of fact, and he relishes the look of uncertainty that crosses Joshua's face. But then the uncertainty is replaced by a mask of satisfaction as Joshua stops moving and looks beyond the hunter.

"Did I say a man?" he queries. "Of course, it's not been that long since I killed a woman."

Knowing better, but unable to stop himself, Dean glances over his shoulder to where he last saw Hayley. She's still there but now she's not alone. One of the Keepers has joined her and is standing quietly behind her, one hand wrapped round her throat, the other clamped securely over her mouth.

"Hayley!" Dean exclaims and takes one step toward her, determined to extinguish the threat to her in preference to his own safety. But one step is all he gets as Joshua flips the blade in his hand and brings the handle down on the side of Dean's head with a force strong enough to knock the hunter to the ground. What the heavy weapon has started, Joshua finishes with a brutal swing of his leg, boot crashing into Dean's skull with enough force to destroy the hunter's tenuous grip on consciousness.

Sam watches in dismay as Joshua launches his attack on Dean but Sam's been around long enough to know not to worry too much just yet. That and Mia's constant nag, nag, nag which, quite frankly, is beginning to drive him round the bend. If she was here, in front of him, he could quite happily wring her neck like a chicken.

_Oh Sammy, _she mocks, _just when we were getting along so well. Dean's none of our concern. Let him play with the senile old fool while the grownups get down to business._ She pauses, whether it's for effect or not Sam neither knows nor cares. _It's time to end this, Winchester. Time to claim what's rightfully mine._

And Sam finds himself moving to the altar, stepping over Alicia who is still prone on the floor, eyes darting left to right and back again as though she's unable to comprehend what's going on. He feels nothing for her but contempt. Which is unlike him. It's not like she asked to be raised in this warped family, and ordinarily Sam might feel some sort of compassion for the girl.

But she's forgotten soon enough as the Keepers move together, as one body, to form a human barrier between him and the books they have spent so long guarding. Although the humming has ceased, they seem to be attuned to each other in some bizarre fashion.

Sam stops in front of the shield and cocks his head to one side. The Keepers watch him studiously, not moving, not even blinking and Sam thinks that's just plain creepy. None of them looks as though they'll give Sam much trouble but Sam's not in full control and he knows even at the best of times not to underestimate people. Because that's all the Keepers are really. Just people.

A rustle of fabric from behind him momentarily distracts him from the Keepers and he risks a sideways glance over his shoulder. Alicia is rising to her feet. Sam can feel Mia jumping up and down in his head but he's managing to keep her at bay with a few mental tricks he's picked up along the way. He knows he's pissing her off and he's quite enjoying the moment in some perverse way.

He watches Alicia as she gains her feet, never failing to look like a product of some Swiss finishing school. She flicks her hair back and gives Sam a cold glare.

"You shouldn't mess with this, Sam," she tells him through a petty frown, and she moves forward till she's alongside him.

He's on full alert for any move she might make but she does nothing other than turn to the Keepers.

"This must be done," she says and Sam's not sure whether she talking to him, herself or the human wall in front of them.

But as the Keepers step forward as one, Sam decides she holds more sway with them than he'd realized. Suddenly Mia and Alicia are the least of his problems.

Hefting the stiletto in his hand, Sam wonders how much damage he can do with one sweep of his arm. Holding it out before him, he waves it experimentally in a wide arc. The Keepers stop in their advance and he takes the advantage to press them back a little.

The upper hand doesn't stay with him for long though. The line of men breaks up into two factions, divided somehow by height, and Sam somehow finds the time to wonder if this is deliberate or just coincidental. He doesn't worry about it too long though as three men melt away, off to the side where Sam finds it hard to watch all of them at the same time.

And as they peel away, the remaining three step forward and Sam's damned if that isn't a smile on their faces.

_Of course it's a smile, you fool,_ Mia hisses. _They're about to rip you limb from limb. What? You thought they were just there to provide some musical accompaniment? Stop blocking me and I can wipe them out with one click of my fingers._

"Nice try, bitch," Sam counters. "I've got you just where I want you," and he breaks off his apparent monologue to dodge the first fist that comes flying at him. It's ridiculously easy to fend off the blow but Sam quickly realizes his problem is going to be quantity, not quality as a second blow catches him unawares in the small of his back.

He staggers slightly and whirls round, dagger held out at arm's length in the hope of damaging one of them on the way round. The Keepers have moved forward and are surrounding him and Sam briefly entertains the prospect of letting Mia help out a little. But then he remembers how deals with demons go and almost laughs at his own idea.

_Not that stupid, Sam_, she coos at him. _This could be over by now and we could be on our way if you'd just stop being so pigheaded._

He shakes his head and waves the stiletto around again just for good measure. The Keepers have halted in their tracks and for a minute Sam wonders if they're about to start humming again. But they don't. They simply stop, motionless save for a head tilt to the left which baffles Sam.

Then he hears someone chanting and he spots Alicia by the altar, the central book in her hands. She's reading from the pages, bringing Berengar back into the world. Her voice rises, louder and louder and then Mia's screaming in Sam's head. Unintelligible and high pitched, Sam can't understand a word of what she's saying.

The Keepers drop to their knees, heads bowed, and one by one they raise their hands to their ears as if trying to block the sound of her chanting.

"What are you doing?" Sam shouts. Whatever she's up to it can't be good news if it has the power to bring grown men to their knees and drive a half-demon skank crazy.

But Alicia doesn't stop. She just looks at Sam and smiles beatifically. Mia shrieks and Sam can't help but groan in pain as her voice shatters the walls of his psyche. He can see Dean struggling with Joshua, can see the Keepers sinking even lower to the ground and he can see Alicia closing her eyes as she presumably reaches the climax of whatever ritual she thinks she performing.

And suddenly Sam knows she can't be allowed to finish it. The ramifications don't bear thinking about and his own wellbeing doesn't seem such a grand price to pay if it means keeping Berengar where he truly belongs.

Ignoring the bitch bouncing around his skull he launches himself across the space separating him from Alicia, and in one swift movement, wrenches the book out of her hands. She gives a girly scream of protest and vainly tries to regain her prize. But Sam is stronger and faster and, if truth be told, more experienced in these matters, and he simply fixes her with a stare, daring her to take another step forward.

Clearly not willing to give up just yet, she laughs bitterly. "It's too late. It's started."

_But not finished, you stupid, stupid child,_ Mia screams inside Sam's head. _She has to finish it. Now. Before it's too late_.

And with those final words, Sam knows what Mia's so afraid of. As the Keepers crash to the ground like a stack of dominoes, he realizes that if Alicia is prevented from finishing the ritual, the hold Mia has on whatever sort of reality she exists in is gone, the Keepers will be simply harmless old men who have wasted their lives on a pointless crusade.

Looking pointedly at Alicia, Sam takes the book in one hand and sweeps her to one side with the other. Pushing through the cacophony that currently is his resident psycho, he leans over to the altar, grasping one of the ornate candles from its holder. He lets the flame lick the pages of the book, ignoring Alicia's protestations, keeping her at arm's length with the stiletto, waiting patiently while the fire takes hold.

As the pages succumb to the flames, he feels Mia burning inside him, feels her twisting and turning, feels the blackness of her floating away in plumes of agony. And as the flames reach his fingers, forcing him to finally drop what's left of the tome, she disappears in a puff of darkness, to be replaced by lightness and a restoration of freewill.

The sudden silence is almost mesmerizing and Sam feels it wrap around him like a soft blanket on a winter's night. Yet something's not right. He can hear Alicia sobbing at his feet, he can hear the Keepers moaning softly as they regain their bearings and he can hear Hayley's cries as she takes in the scene and the fallen Keeper by her side.

But he can't hear fighting. He can't hear the sounds of Dean gloating over his adversary, the witty sarcasm he usually flings at those he's just defeated. In fact, now that he thinks of it, he can't hear Dean at all.

He spins round to where he last saw his brother locked in combat with Joshua and his heart falls to the pit of his stomach like a leaden balloon. Dean is on the ground, blood spilling from the side of his head and Joshua's foot is swinging back, ready to make the final move in the little dance he is performing with Dean.

Sam knows irrevocably he won't reach the old man before the damage to his brother is done, but he can do something.

"Joshua!" he shouts, just as the man connects with Dean's head and Sam knows whatever happens next, his brother is going to be useless to him. But he's strangely calm. Fate has taken over and while Sam believes he is truly in control of his destiny, the next few minutes can only go one way and he – Sam Winchester – is the one pulling the strings.

The old man jumps, apparently unaware how far off the rails his plan has gone, and turns to face Sam, steel blade out. He scans the room and, decision clearly made, he lunges for Sam, knife at chest height.

Sam nods briefly. He was expecting this and before Joshua has taken more than two steps, he's let the stiletto fly out of his hand with deadly accuracy.

Joshua looks surprised as he watches the crimson stain on his shirt spread slowly outwards. He stumbles slightly and drops to one knee, hand clutching his chest, mouth dropping open. It's as if there are words in there, trying to get out, but the life ebbing from his body, the effort appears to be too much for the old man. His final act is to lift his head and meet Sam's eyes before the light goes out and he slumps forward, lifeless, on to the stone floor.

Dean eyes Sam from across the motel room. His brother has been quiet and broody since they left Hastings and it's beginning to bother him. For the first day or two Sam fobbed him off by telling him he was fine and that Dean should be resting, that head injuries take a while to heal.

It's been three days now though and Dean's had enough.

"Sam," he starts, "It wasn't…"

"If you're going to say it wasn't my fault, I know," Sam interrupts.

Dean shakes his head. "No," he replies. "No, that's not what I was going to say but if that's what's bothering you then, no, it wasn't your fault." He pauses. "If anything, it was my fault."

Sam snorts. "How d'you work that one out?" he queries, genuine confusion on his face.

"Well," Dean muses, "if it hadn't been for that redhead, none of this would have happened."

"Yes it would," Sam argues. "If if hadn't been her, they'd have found another way. And, by the way, they drugged you. No way it was your fault." He gets up from the table he's sitting at, stalks over to the window, looking out over yet another desolate parking lot.

Dean sighs. "Okay," he concedes. "But if it wasn't my fault, it wasn't yours either. Joshua was a crazy dude and sometimes the only way is…" He trails off, but they both hear the _sometimes you have to kill people_ even though neither of them is going to say it aloud.

Sam shrugs. "I know," he agrees, softly. "I just wish there'd been another way."

Dean stands up and stretches his arms out. This moment has lasted long enough for him. "Look on the bright side," he announces brightly. "Mia's finally bitten the dust, Hayley got her son back, the Keepers get their lives back and Alicia's going to get some much needed help." He grabs his jacket off the bed and his wallet off the nightstand.

"I think we did alright, Sam."


End file.
